"Although I didn't write this song, it spoke to me in a way that made me feel as if it was my own story,” Brandon said. “I found myself playing it over and over again in my bedroom, remembering situations that I've been through.”
Check out the video for yourself below.
office sat down with Jordan when she was in New York to chat with her about her debut album, her current success and growing up.
So, you’re from Baltimore. What’s different about it from all of the other cities you’ve been visiting on tour?
It’s really cheap, and it’s a good breeding ground for intrinsically-motivated artists. No one really goes there to ‘make it.’ There’s not a lot of foundation to be successful. In the past, there was a lot of DIY infrastructure and a lot of places for shows—this whole crazy scene—but now there’s not as much going into it. It’s ever-changing, but I think there are a lot of really incredible musicians there and a lot of people have followed in their footsteps; a lot of legacy, and the art is flowing. It’s cool.
You’re lyrics are beautiful. Tell me, what’s your writing process like?
It’s pretty slow-going. I’ll usually write the entire guitar part and arrange the entire song, write the vocal melody—basically I’ll finish the entire song before I even start writing lyrics. It takes me almost a year to finish one song—it takes me so long.
We respect a process, and yours evident—you speak with intention. What stories are you trying to tell with your songs?
I don’t consider myself to be much of a storyteller. I find myself to be very expressive and emotional—I just try to channel that and it becomes and outlet for me. To just be sad, feel whatever I’m feeling in the most raw way I possibly can, and attempt to give myself context to those feelings by just putting it into a timeline or sequence on a record. It’s like giving myself closure.
Maybe it’s because I’m also queer, but I definitely hear the yearning for clarity.
Yes. Totally.
There’s not enough queer girls in the game, to be honest—or at least they’re not enough getting the credit and recognition they deserve.
Agreed. I don’t find myself being around queer women often, but it’s not intentional. Honestly, I think it’s kind of necessary to have that aspect of your life—a lack of queer presence—and it’s such a unique experience. It’s hard to relate to other people who haven’t experienced it.
It’s an interesting perspective. How has this past year been for you? Did you expect people to have such a positive response to your music?
Yes and no. People had a very personal reaction to the EP that I definitely didn’t expect, and it gave a lot of leverage from not having any help at all in that process. We just put it out on my friend’s label and—I don’t know, Lush felt really big and important and whole, but I didn’t necessarily go into it expecting other people to feel the same way. So, with this one, I’m glad they do. We’ve been able to do a lot of traveling and got to do and see some cool stuff. But it gets hectic.
Of course, because it’s still business.
Exactly. There’s a lot to consider, learn, understand—for me, at least.
What do you do to pass time on tour?
I really like wine, I read a lot, I like to do stuff myself. I’ll buy four drinks or a really large drink at Starbucks in one night just so I can sit there for hours and avoid the green room.
When did you realize you wanted to get involved in music?
Right before I was going to go to college and was trying to decide if I was going sign to a label and make a record—I didn’t want to half-ass anything, so I just picked one.
Are you a goal-oriented person?
I’m secretly a goal-oriented person.
Have you accomplished any of your goals?
Well, I always wanted to go to Asia, so that’s cool that I was able to finally do that. When I was really little, I wanted to play Madison Square Garden, and we’re opening for Interpol there this February.
'Lush' is out now.
But of course, attainment of this caliber by no means happens over night, as the musician humbly notes. From classical training to playing in various bands, including LA scuzz rockers, Cherry Glazerr, and teaching music scoring for films and commercials, you name a musically-involved vocation and SASAMI has been there, done that—and did not forget the lessons that each phase of life taught her along the way.
With the recent release of two new singles, SASAMI is dead-focused on the making of her debut album, set to drop sometime early next year. office had to pleasure of catching up with the musician and picked her brain about her journey, micro pigs and learning to compromise.
I know you just released “Not the Time” and “Callous,” and that was your first solo venture since Cherry Glazerr. So, can you tell me a little about the creative thought that went into these pieces, and the ideas you wanted to communicate to your audience?
Well, “Not the Time” and “Callous” are two pieces that I’ve been working on for the last two years. Since I’ve been off tour, I’ve been working on songs, so they’re not necessarily two of the most recent songs—more like two pieces within an entire record. They were just the two that I was most excited to put out.
You’ve said that “Not the Time” was about those unsent messages—those drafts that you write but never send to the intended person.
It’s funny because I’ve been making music for such a long time—I studied classical music and I’ve been playing in bands for years and years and years—but this the first time that I really had an urgency to write songs with lyrics. So, this record came from a place of needing to do it. I wasn’t like, ‘I’m gonna make a record!’—I was just in Leeds or some random place at the time and just had to write. That’s where it came from.
How has your experience and interdisciplinary musical education informed your creative process or the cultivation of your sound?
I think it’s just inevitable that your education in any area affects you all the time, just because it becomes part of you. In a lot of ways, my musicianship is informed by my rejection of my schooling, my classical training. Being obsessed with My Bloody Valentine and Gang of Four, and angular guitar music, and super noisy guitar music is a rejection of really clean classical music. But I’m sure my arrangements and songs are informed by my knowledge of music theory and voice leading and shit like that.
How do you determine when a song is finished, or when an album is complete?
Songs, when you record them, are really not super different from the demos, and demos are pretty much made in a day or two. This whole record was definitely made on impulse. There are some decisions that were changed in the studio on a couple songs, but I would say for 80 percent of the songs, the demos are really similar to the finished product. I tried really hard to keep everything as stream-of-consciousness as much as possible. And then with a record, after a certain point, I’m ten minutes over how long you can even put on vinyl, so I tell myself I should probably stop.
So, the decision is pretty much made for you! What’s your favorite food to eat on the road?
Oh my gosh—favorite food to eat on the road? I love eating Tom Yum—it’s a really spicy Thai lemongrass soup. It’s really good, especially if you have a cold because it makes your fucking sinuses start running—you’ll be all stuffed up and then all of a sudden you’ll be fine. It’s a magical soup—magical.
That’s great, especially because traveling is really good at making people super sick.
I know! Your immune system is low and you probably didn’t sleep the day before because you had anxiety about traveling, and all the germs, and you don’t have your regular routine. So, yeah it happens.
Blossom, Bubbles or Buttercup?
Which is the one that has the raspy voice?
Buttercup, the green one. I thought you were going to say that.
Yeah, probably Buttercup. With my raspy voice, I guess I kind of already relate.
If someone wrote a biography about you, what do you think the title would be?
Sasami Salami!
I like that! You could have gone really serious, really intense with it, but you took the light, fun way out.
Yeah, I feel like I get a lot of my sadness, my anxiety—the more emotionally-wrought kind of stuff—out in my songs. Generally, the rest of the time, I’m a fucking weirdo. When you go to my shows, it’s kind of funny because when I’m playing, I’m serious, but when I’m talking in between songs, I pretty much just rip at how much of a loser I am. There’s definitely a dichotomy between the serious content of my music and the generally light content of my demeanor.
You need a healthy balance. You don’t want to be too much of either, or it’s no fun.
Exactly.
So, I mentioned Cherry Glazerr, and I know you’ve done a bunch of other collaborative work, but it seems like for most of your professional career, you’ve worked in groups, or musical settings that include more than one person. Now that you’re working on your own, what have been the difficulties in distinguishing yourself as a solo artist?
I mean, my issues with it are much less artistic and creative, and more of just realizing that you have to be the boss of your own work—show up and be the boss of my instrument. I have to hire a band, hire a manager, pick a label, pick which tours I want to do and make sure that I’m playing shows with people that I’m aligned with. Just so much non-musical stuff to deal with when, before, I would just roll out of bed and smack some keys, drink some kombucha and then do it all over again. So, it’s kind of different now, but its cool. It’s gratifying, and it’s fun to connect with the audience in a little bit more of a direct way.
I’ve always felt like I need to be my own boss because I don’t like to listen to people, and I’m a big picture type of girl, so the nitty gritty details always elude me—I don’t think about them, but they’re so important and I often forget that.
Totally, it’s hard. I mean, you’re a writer, so you’re an artist, and I feel like artists are a little more loosey goosey—I know I am. My sister is an occupational therapist and she’s so black and white, she just tells it like it is, you know, like ‘You said you were gonna be here at 11 ‘o'clock, yada yada yada,’ and I’m just like ‘I really just had to do this thing.’ Meanwhile, I’m probably like popping a pimple or something—I’m so floaty, even though I’m Korean. My Korean side is definitely the one that’s like, ‘Finish it, right now!’
What would be your advice for aspiring musicians, or any artists who wants to get started? It’s so scary because if you want your main vocation to be in the creative realm, you either make it or you don’t. So, just any general advice for someone who wants to take that leap?
Yeah, I mean—I’m trying to phrase this in a way that’s not super demystifying of the art world—but I feel like you get to a certain point where your like, ‘I have a job and music is my hobby, and it’s very pure and it’s unaffected by anything other than my creative outlet,’ or you get to the point where you’re like, ‘I don’t want to have another job, I want music to be my whole life,’ but when you hit that point, you kind of have to accept some of the realities of compromise. Not necessarily creative compromises, but you just have to start making decisions in your life that open you up to opportunities that allow you to play music all the time—to put a record out with the right amount of resources. It’s so important to be honest with yourself about what your intentions are in being a musician—if your intentions are just to make pure art. This is also very dependent on your socio-economic situation. Some people are just rich kids, and can just be musicians and don’t have to worry about money, but I’m not like that. I’m the person that paid a hundred grand to go to music school, and am still paying it off, and working through school, was a music teacher, and played in other peoples bands. I had to work. I just started making songs when I was 28, but music has always been a job for me, and I’ve always felt super lucky because I loved my job so much.
Some people have a different relationship to music, but for me and my friends, and colleagues who are successful musicians, I’ve realized that there was just this very clear understanding that this is my job, and I am privileged to have this as my job. There is a lot of work involved, there are a lot of decisions, and a lot of hard realities to be faced, so I think for people who are starting, I would say don’t make it your job right away. Go to school, have some other jobs, let the music proliferate out of a place that is pure, and not money-based. Because at a certain point, when money gets involved, it does affect your musicianship, your plan for what your album is going to sound like, what your music videos are going to look like—it adds this kind of pressure when music becomes your main source of income. So, honestly, if you’re just starting out, don’t be like, ‘I’m gonna do music and my job is to be on tour non-stop and not have another job, and music is my career’—that might burn you really fast. You want to enjoy the process.
I don’t think people talk about that, and it’s such a reality. People get all butthurt like, ‘Why is their music doing well and why isn’t mine?’ and it’s not because your music isn’t good—it’s because probably I’m working harder; or because I saved up a bunch of money from my shitty pizza shop job so that I could take a tour where I wasn’t going to make money, so that I could play to more people, and book another tour. So, I would just say that if your question is about being a musician as your life, don’t start making music when you have career pressure on it—start making music when you have this pure urgency to do it. And practice. In a lot of ways, art comes from urgency, but there is also a skill and a practice to it that you could hone in on. I mean, I was making music for years before I ever wrote a song. I was playing in bands and in an orchestra before I ever felt like I had to make a song.
That’s really beautiful, and something that I also feel is completely overlooked. A lot of things, when you look at them are black and white, but between those two extremes there is so much compromise and grey area.
Totally. In a capitalist society where, in many ways, art only exists when it coalesces with capitalism, it’s a dark reality about art. I just think it’s important to keep that in mind, especially when you’re judging yourself. Don’t judge yourself so hard, like ‘I’m not doing well because my music isn’t good, or my art isn’t good, or my writing isn’t good’—there are so many other factors. I don’t think it means you have to compromise who you are, but there are a lot of small compromises you have to make. I don’t feel like I’m not myself, but I do feel different now that I am a boss of my industry, as opposed to a french horn player who just shows up and toots—it’s a different story.
If you had to liken your music to any animal, what would it be?
A micro pig—smarter than you think, and kind of funny and squealy, but still sly as hell.
'Not The Time / Callous' is out now.
office caught up with the rapper to talk about politics, his future in music and Baltimore DIY space The Bell Foundry (RIP).
You released Veteran almost a year ago. So, what are you working on right now? I know you recently dropped your "1539 N. Calvert" video.
I like making music, so I’m just always making music—that’s what I enjoy doing. I mean, I’m always working on shit. I’m always in the state of creating. And when it’s the right time for me to release something new, I’m going to shift my focus to that.
It’s funny because that song—"1539 N. Calvert"—is an ode to [Baltimore artist loft and DIY venue] The Bell Foundry, which is also featured in the video. I’m super familiar with The Bell because one of my best friends moved to Baltimore a few years back, and she actually lived there. In The Bell. So, I was so sad when I heard it was being demolished.
That’s so crazy! I can’t believe you knew someone who lived there. No one who’s not from Baltimore knows The Bell. So, when I saw it on the news—on CNN and shit—I was just like, ‘Oh damn!’ you know? It was just this place where we always hung out—I never expected it to be on TV. But when I saw it on the news, with everyone using the wrong names and watching people judge the people who lived there without knowing anything, or what was actually going on—it put a lot of things in perspective. And sadly, that shit happens all the time.
Right. What I love about places like that, is just the environment—being able to live with artists, and around artists. It makes you feel inspired, and like you always want to be creative.
Exactly. And it’s kind of like, a friendly competition. When you see other people creating shit, you know you have to create more. I always have to be on top.
Are you from Baltimore?
Not originally. I am from New York—from Brooklyn—and now I live in LA.
Do you think that’s changed your music? Have each of the cities you’ve lived in influenced your sound?
For sure. The East coast is more—I don’t know how to describe it—it’s just more competitive, and harder to be a part of. New York is weird as fuck, yo. Like, when I’d be playing a show in New York, people would just be standing there. Then, when I started performing in LA, it was so different. It was just really hard for me to connect to a scene in New York. In Baltimore, there’s a big art scene and you get to meet so many creative people. New York—I mean, of course I love it—but it’s not like that. It’s more random and spread out. The energy is just completely different in LA.
So, do you think living in LA has had an impact on the songs you wrote for Veteran?
It has, especially because living in LA, I’m less stressed than I was in Baltimore. When I was living in Baltimore, I was more focused on other shit while I was doing my music. So, the music naturally came out harsher, and had a more aggressive feel to it. I mean, I think it still has it a little, because I have those feelings naturally. But in LA, because I am not that stressed, not living in the ghetto like I was in Baltimore, I’m just able to see more clearly. I’m more level-headed. But I will say this: Veteran was made in Baltimore, then mixed and mastered in LA. So, I made all of this chaos in Maryland, then I was able to really make sense of it when I moved to LA.
Do you think Veteran is more experimental than your previous work? A lot of reviewers were calling it your most ‘experimental work yet.’ But I really didn’t hear that—to me, it just sounds like you’ve grown.
I agree. It’s actually less experimental, to be honest—it’s my most straightforward, well put together album. To me, experimental means something out of the box, out of the norm, and there is definitely shit from my previous records that are way the fuck out there compared to Veteran. Veteran is just real—it lays it all out there. Something I always try to do is present a strange idea in a comfortable way, in a way that people can understand it. So, I took a lot of things that could be experimental, and put them together in a way that felt more straightforward.
How do you think you’ve changed as an artist since you first started?
A lot. I think as an artist, the core of who I am has stayed the same, but the way I represent my ideas has switched up a lot. Back in the day, in order to achieve a certain goal, I might say something straight up crazy because I knew I would get a reaction. But when I realized people didn’t get the intention behind what I was doing, I thought, ‘Maybe I should change the way I represent it.’ I’m the same person and have stayed the same person through my career, but the way I present my ideas is different—I’m conscious of the way I say things. I mean, I always say whatever the fuck I want, but now, I’ll present it in a certain way to make sure people understand where I’m coming from. Sometimes it work, sometimes it doesn’t, but at least there’s no confusion as to what the fuck I think.
Do you consider Veteran a political record?
Hell yeah! Not in the traditional sense of like, ‘Just go out and vote!’—it’s political in that it’s how average people talk about politics, how everyone speaks casually about politics in day to day life. So, I wanted to pose it from everyone’s perspective rather than this sort of intellectual, ‘Read this book and go vote’ kind of vibe. With everything I do, I just present my observations and people can make their own conclusions—that’s how I operate. I look at things and I take into account everything that’s going on, and apply it to my own life. So, yes, it’s a political album, but a millennial political album. It’s new age, for people like me.
Yeah, it’s interesting because we’re in such a different time when it comes to politics, and people speaking about politics. Even just five years ago, it was really only the people who were actively into politics that were regularly talking about it. But now, with everything happening in the world, everyone is reacting in a certain way. And millennials, in particular, are really focused on not just having a voice, but making sure its heard.
Definitely. I mean, life in general has been more politicalized, especially because the internet has the ability to spread everything quickly. Back in the day, I remember there was a time where it was not cool if I told some white dude, ‘Yo I play video games,’ because they would think it was weird. Like, ‘Oh shit, you’re black, and you play videogames? That’s crazy.’ But now, it’s not the case—no one would probably think twice. And it’s the same thing with politics. If you used to be into politics that meant you were into this, not that—you would be pigeonholed into a certain box. But now, because of the internet and how it works, everyone can look at anything, anyone can be into anything. So, politics have entered a new realm—it’s not like a fixed market anymore. So, to go back to your original question, yes, Veteran is a political album in the same way that everyone is talking about politics, and this is how I talk about it—my take on it.
But do you feel like there’s more urgency now for you to be speaking up? I mean, it’s always important, but in this climate, it feels especially so.
Oh absolutely. They are winking in our fucking faces. Like with Kavanaugh and shit—it was hard for me to watch that. It was just such a shitshow. I mean, realistically, they didn’t even need Kavanaugh—they could have put anybody in that seat to get what they needed to get done. Then they had this whole trial and basically told Christine Blasey Ford that she was wrong and what happened to her was just like ‘Nah, we don’t care, we are just men and we are doing this shit.’ So, at this point, they are just bald, white and crazy. The whole thing was just a ‘fuck you’ to anybody who doesn’t think like them. So, right now, more than ever, it’s super important to show them we don’t think like them, we never will, and we won’t take their shit, man.
I mean, it’s definitely clear you’re not afraid to say that—I mean, you’ve rapped about the alt-right and Tomi Lahren, and have a song called “Libtard Anthem.” But do you ever feel like there’s a pressure on you to be radical, or make political statements?
I’m sure there are people who are looking to me for that. I’ve seen at it my shows. But I don’t mind it, and here’s why: I don’t have an MO on my album. I literally just put down what I’m feeling at the time, and if it all comes together as ‘Fuck the alt-right,’ or ‘Word on the street you’re a Libtard,’ that’s cool. These are issues that I’m feeling and talking about now. But I was also talking about them when no one was looking, no one cared, no one was reviewing my songs. I’ve been talking about this shit since my first album, when I was 18. This is just what I care about and how I operate. So, if people want to put that on me, I don’t mind. But I don’t feel like I have a responsibility or owe anyone anything. If people see me as some flag bearer for ‘Fuck the alt-right,’ that’s fine, but people need to accept that I’m just being myself—I’m not trying to get likes or go viral. I’m just saying what I mean. I just hope that I don’t get pigeonholed like, ‘We want you to do this and nothing else.’
I know you were in the Air Force. What year did you join?
I joined in 2008, when I was 18, and got out in 2012.
To me, it seems like such a crazy transition to go from something as structured as the military, to being a rapper, and being on tour, where you have absolutely no structure, and no schedule, other than getting to the next show. Being an artist and being a soldier—they just seem like total opposites.
Yeah, they totally are. And most people who do one don’t do the other. But I’m the product of my circumstances. I joined the military when I was 18 and dirt fucking poor. I mean, I was poor as shit in deep south in Alabama, and going to the military was my way out. It’s not like I could afford college. So, that was presented as my only option—my only way out of this shitty, broke town. Literally. I didn’t have any other choice. I hated being in the military but if I hadn’t joined—I’m really high right now, so maybe this doesn’t make any sense—but look, sometimes it’s fucking real. I’m sure this has been said a million times by a million different people, but if I hadn’t joined the military, I would be dead, or in jail. That’s just the truth. It wouldn’t have happened immediately, but eventually—I might not even be alive right now. I’m not saying that the military saved me but making that decision—to get out of my environment—that’s what saved me. And I made a decision the second that I got in that I was going to fucking focus, I was going to hold my shit and get through it until I could pursue a music career. So, I used the time to hone my skill and do what I needed to do musically until I got it and could actually do it.
How did you get into music to begin with? Was it always something you always wanted to do?
It sounds funny now, but I remember a point in time where I didn’t really listen to music. The first music I really listened to and enjoyed on my own was the Hanson record. That “MMMbop” shit. That shit was everywhere. I was fucking in Jamaica, Queens bumping that shit. But that was the first shit I really remember liking on my own. Then, from there, I started listening to these dancehall records my dad had, and late ‘90s, early ‘00s pop music, like prime Backstreet Boys shit. I really started getting into music when listening to all of that, and I was just fascinated and curious about who was making these records, how it was actually happening. Eventually, one of my sisters had a Cam’ron record—it was either Sports, Drugs & Entertainment or Come Home With Me—and there was a song called “Dead or Alive,” which was produced by Kanye. I got into rap because of that track. I just remember being completely fascinated by how he made the song, and got obsessed with looking into it and how he used the Chipmunk samples. That’s really got I got into rapping and production.
But when was the first time you really felt like, ‘I want to do this as a career’?
When I was 18 and joined the military. I was like, ‘This is what I want to do.’ Before that, I knew I wanted to do music, but I just didn’t think it was realistic for me to pursue it. Like, here I am in deep south Alabama – how am I ever going to be able to do this? So, when I was 18, I had this epiphany and realized I really wasn’t good at anything except for music. I couldn’t keep a job, I’m kind of a weird person to be around—music is the only thing I have ever sat down and taken the time to appreciate, and just work on, and love.
So, I had this epiphany where I was like, ‘I am not good at anything else ya’ll!’ I was going into the Air Force, doing basic training and thinking, ‘I am 18, I’m in good physical shape and shit. I’m going to get through this, and when I do, I’m going to do music.’ All of the instructors were just yelling in my face and I just kept my mouth shut and pushed through it because I realized it was a way for my to do my music. I was just like, ‘I’m going to do this, this is what I want in my life, period. And if I don’t succeed, I will at least die trying.’
So, there was no backup plan?
Zero. I knew, no matter what, even if I pursued another career, I’d always be trying to make music on the side. I’d never have my heart in anything. So, that was it for me.
What do you think you’d be doing now if you weren’t doing music?
Honestly, I would be writing about it, like a music journalist. It’s that simple—if I weren’t able to produce, I would find another way to be around it.
'Veteran' is out now. Watch the '1539 N. Calvert' video here.
