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John Coltrane once noted he would “like to point out to people the divine in a musical language that transcends words… to speak to their souls.” The idea is for an artist to produce art not to win acclaim or respond to a momentary issue in their life but to use their gifts to respond to an existentially higher power. Many artists – both before and after the tenor saxophonist – have pursued such lofty goals. But many observers seemingly misunderstand such efforts. Consider Apple Music’s horrible description for its Spiritual Jazz Essentials playlist, which states without support, that  “[spiritual jazz] faded in the ‘70s, but four decades later L.A.’s Kamasi Washington brought it back in response to a consumerist cultural landscape.” As addressed in our conversation with saxophonist Isaiah Collier, the reality is that this existential yearning through music never ended. As shown on The Almighty (Division 81, 2024), those appeals to a higher power through music continue to a younger generation, as well. 

In an era ruled by social media, twenty-five-year-old Collier is a breath of fresh air. His wisdom and perceptiveness belies his young age.  He makes compelling and creative music that seeks to say something more meaningful than express today’s passing trends. His music is often seemingly removed from time, wholly modern yet enlightened by the tradition laid before it. Key to these aspects of his art is Collier’s perception of himself not as a creative innovator but merely as a filter through which music flows. That stream incorporates the heritage and culture of those who came before but is not bound to them. 

These ties to tradition and culture were evident in Collier’s immediately preceding record with his band, The Chosen Few, Cosmic Transitions (Division 81, 2022). The album was deeply indebted to John Coltrane’s late work – which is appropriate given the record’s theme of learning from the ancestors – but Collier took these threads and weaved them into a tapestry wholly his own. He shows the continued relevancy of Coltrane’s work not by mimicking it but by showing the other directions in which it can go.

A parallel can be found on The Almighty’s centerpiece tune, “Perspective (Peace and Love)” where calming flute, a repeated refrain of “Peace and Love”, and African-originated percussion scream late 60s Pharaoh Sanders. But throughout the album, one can also hear the legacy of his native Chicago with hints of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (AACM) – of which Collier is a recent member, Sun Ra’s years in the city, and more. But again, these are all mere stops along a wider path. Same with the title track’s Third Stream hybridization of jazz and classical music through a large ensemble, The Celestials. Strings and piano create a cinematic landscape over which Collier’s increasingly fervent and firey tenor preaches, burning its way through. The song vastly differs from the works of people like Gunther Schuller, even as it grows from the same roots. 

The Almighty is a bold statement on the continued vibrancy, vitality, and necessity of spiritual musical expression. Cupertino’s reports of spiritual jazz’s demise have been highly exaggerated. The album also, though not its primary purpose, reflects Collier’s role as one of the finest artists of his generation.

PostGenre: What inspired you to produce a work that explores the relationship between the Creator and people?

Isaiah Collier: I believe we try to designate things so differently than we would make them out to be. Everyone has a commonality with others. And through these commodities, we can unify and participate in the collective human experience. But without the basis and understanding of creation, it’s hard to create unity. It’s hard to create community. 

When we’re aware of how the divine architect presents and shows how the flow of life comes together, hopefully, we take the example and apply it ourselves. In making this record, I had to sit down and reflect on my own relationship with the Creator. And this led me to explore how others experience their relationship with the Creator. As I did, I started to realize that while we don’t all agree on these issues, we are all, more than likely, having the same conversation, just using different names. I realized that the Creator is the fulcrum that connects us all. 

PG: In that context, what is music? 

IC: Music is probably the closest thing you’ll get to hearing the Creator’s voice. 

PG: So, do you see making music as a form of meditation? 

IC: It can be. Everything is a form of meditation. Once you’re in a state of flow, of course. Music is a little different because it does not have the same confines as other artistic mediums. It’s a very abstract art form that we artists try to make concrete. Every other art form is concrete and trying to be abstract. But you could argue the same thing regarding the divine architect of the universe. You’ve probably never touched the Creator. You have probably never even seen the Creator. Or maybe you have. But it is all subjective, as long as we can feel and are receiving vibrations and are in tune with them. 

PG: You had started playing at your church when you were growing up. Do you feel that experience has shaped your perspective on spiritual elements and how they fit with music? 

IC: It is a part of my perspective. But someone can go through all these different religious institutions and still never reach any basis of spirituality or any correspondence and understanding of it. That’s the decision you have to make though. 

PG: Apple Music’s “Spiritual Jazz Essentials Playlist” has a description that says spiritual jazz died in the 1970s, but Kamasi Washington brought it back four decades later. What are your thoughts on that claim?

IC: No, I don’t think it died. I mean, my mentor, Kahil El’Zabar,  is one of the people who kept the art form going. People are just ignorant and not always aware of the music. That’s OK. And if Kamasi can serve as a reference for such people, that is great. But that catalyst was either going to be him or someone else.

I think it’s important to add that, at the same time, people also often believe spiritual jazz was initially created in the 1960s with people like Albert Ayler, Pharaoh Sanders, and [John Col]trane. But it really started back in the 50s with Sun Ra, here in Chicago. Ultimately, I don’t see spiritual jazz as just an elusive term. It has a basis and a place and is actually a structured cultural art. 

I also look at my contemporaries who make this type of music. People like Junius Paul, who has worked with Roscoe Mitchell, learned some in Chicago, and is part of the AACM, like myself. The AACM’s influence has spiraled and inspired many of us. Many of us are the byproducts of these strong spiritual institutions or organizations that were founded by our collective heroes. 

PG: As far as the AACM, when did you join it?

IC: Well, I became an official member over a year ago. But I’ve been involved with the AACM since I was fifteen or sixteen years old. I met the chairman, Ernest Dawkins, and other people. 

I will never forget when I first saw Douglas Ewert.  I was opening up for him at the Chicago Jazz Festival. He wore a jacket with a bunch of little embroidered pieces that spelled out AACM. At the time, I didn’t realize I was always around the AACM. But people like Douglas Ewert and the legend Kidd Jordan were very supportive and encouraging. 

I remember it was funny because they asked me to play the Star Spangled Banner. Not a very exciting song, but for those types of cats, if they can hear you play any song and can hear the potential within that context and how they can work with it.  And so I was intrigued. And then when you start getting the historical receipts, you start seeing what these guys are talking about and I was blown away by how the state of modern jazz is so heavily influenced by the organization. And it was in my own backyard the whole time. 

PG: To ask you about another mentor of yours, Robert Irving III, is not a member of the AACM. Most people probably know him as the musical director for Miles Davis during the last decade of Miles’ life. 

IC: Yeah, yeah. 

PG: There is a quote where you said that “the most important thing as an artist is to show development.” Miles was always changing and developing. What do you feel you have learned most about development from working with Robert? 

IC: Bobby and all these people always give you perspectives. When I first started working with Bobby, I’ll never forget how different his music is. I feel like he’s a person who also embeds the AACM philosophy, even if he is not a member. I  think that philosophy is followed by many people in Chicago. 

Bobby writes a lot of music based on his dreams. I thought that was very fascinating. Not only that, but all his music is performed in 432. Most temperament in modern music today is at 440. And dropping it off by that 8, does something completely different and exposes a whole many different things regarding how to approach sound. Compositionally, he is a guy who emphasizes transition. And that rubbed off on me a little bit. He is such a forward thinker who isn’t generally as celebrated as he should be. 

PG: In terms of your own compositions, you mostly start with the piano when composing a piece. But for “The Duality Suite” you composed from the saxophone. How do you feel starting with the saxophone changes the sound of the piece compared to if you had started with the piano?

IC: Well, people have to understand the saxophone is a very interesting instrument because it cannot sustain chords. It’s a little more nitpicky when you’re trying to make sure you’re playing a sound on the horn. You could think you’re outlining a certain chord, but you’re instead outlining an inversion of another chord. The piano, by contrast, has everything all laid out, and you can look and see all the extensions. It becomes a different thing. 

But, also, the instrument anatomies differ. Certain things are naturally easier to do on each instrument. With “The Duality Suite”, the melody was easy to compose because naturally, the saxophone is an intervallic instrument. It was just applying that type of understanding to it. The pieces just started playing themselves, more than I was trying to write them. I’m just a filter.

PG: To ask you about another composition, the title track is with your band The Celestials.  Do you have any plans to record a full album with that group?

IC: Yes, I do. The Celestials was my anchor during the pandemic. When the pandemic happened, I remember feeling despair. Everybody felt that momentarily. But then my mind started going and said that the pandemic wasn’t going to last forever. At the time, I was checking out a lot of documentaries, and when Miles Davis: Birth of Cool dropped, I started becoming intrigued with his nonet project. I was also getting very into Wayne Shorter. He’s one of my heroes. And I’m very fortunate to have met him. Wayne’s later music was dubbed “Third Stream Music ” just like Miles’ nonet. And that was fascinating to hear because Miles did a similar thing as Wayne, but so long ago. Wayne had just started doing that recently. So once again, Miles and his time traveling. His old councils serve as new concepts to his other constituents. You could hear how Miles and Wayne both took these different applied concepts and created totally different approaches to them. 

And so, I based the Celestials on the same idea of making Third Stream music.  Writing for that group lasted from the beginning of the pandemic all the way to the end of it. Then I composed a suite for that group entitled New World Today. I’m working on some other stuff for that group, too. 

PG: The rest of The Almighty is with your group, The Chosen Few. Michael Shekwoaga Ode is in that band, and you also have a duo project together called I Am. Why do you feel the two of you communicate so well together? 

IC: We share a curiosity for what lies beyond our capabilities. Every time we’re up on the stage, we push and pull each other to go where we haven’t gone before. Only in those places do I see what I am truly capable of, and what I have latent potential in. Sometimes it feels like it’s preconceived and pre-practiced, but it isn’t. The goal is to create something new, and you can only create something new once you have played everything you can possibly think of. I’m still chasing sounds I don’t think anyone else has heard, but that’s for me to do. And that’s what keeps me going. 

PG: As far as chasing sounds and finding higher expression through music, the influence of Coltrane, along with Pharoah and Ayler can be heard on The Almighty, particularly on “Perspective (Peace and Love).” As to Coltrane specifically, for your prior Chosen Few album, Cosmic Transitions (Division 81, 2021), you recorded at Van Gelder Studios on Coltrane’s birthday and using some of the same equipment he used on A Love Supreme (Impulse!, 1965). Do you feel that experience gave you a different perspective on Coltrane’s work? 

IC: No. I want people to understand that if these cats were still alive, they would not hold onto the things we’re holding in high regard the same way we would. These are not sounds that belong to a specific time because it’s culture. As long as you have culture, you’re in it, right? Native Americans have danced for hundreds and hundreds of years. Are those who do so today, when the tribes are so marginalized, trying to imitate the Native ancestors? No. They’re performing culture, and I need people to emphasize and understand that.

The only thing I can say is that I’m a Black man living my experience in my time. If the music sounds the same, I would urge people to ask the question, “What hasn’t changed?” Things are going to remain the same when there is no change. But when there’s change, we can hear the nuances of transitions. With “Perspective”, I was reflecting on my Nigerian heritage, so I included a talking drum. The talking drum creates a different conversation. It’s all about being fully aware that we each have a cultural identity. Because fifty years from now, I can’t be Isaiah Collier trying to make the same music as what came before. The only two people I know who can claim the title of Coltrane or Sanders are Ravi Coltrane and Tomoki Sanders. I’m just a person who’s speaking in a conversation that’s been had before and adding my thoughts to it.

PG: As far as the culture, you are a big fan of not only “jazz” musicians but also Kendrick Lamar, Jill Scott, Earth Wind and Fire, and D’Angelo. Do you see them all as different reflections on Black American culture? 

IC: Absolutely, man. Even though they sound different. As long as they’re from different parts of the country, there will always be some differences caused by where they are from. I mean Col[trane] is from North Carolina, so necessarily had a different thing from a cat like Lester Young. And both sound different from Charlie Parker. Their circumstances created the sonic experiences we have. And that’s what people have to remember. We too often try to disconnect the art from that context.

I always tell people that life is art and art imitates life. The two are not inseparable. It’s all about being profoundly yourself. The music that results may feel like an otherworldly thing. To a certain extent, it is. Verbally, we have our words, but in music, we have pure sound through frequency and vibration. Even though we can have the same conversation through music as through words, there are certain things music can express that words cannot. As I like to say, music is simply complex and complexly simple. 

PG: Sort of tied to that, you were on one of the best albums of 2023, Angel Bat Dawid’s Requiem for Jazz (International Anthem, 2023). A central message to that work is how jazz “died” but the Black American culture that made the music survived and continues to thrive. Do you see that as connected to your emphasis on culture?

IC: Definitely. Requiem is a metaphor for the colonialization that’s been implemented within this culture. The concept of jazz music is not supposed to be capitalistic in its nature. Not at all. But we are all the byproducts of social understandings, economic circumstances, and political and social problems. And as long as those things are there, that is what created the situation now and when. People forget that. 

Or, as I like to say, the music is becoming so suburban that it is losing what it’s supposed to be. This music is based on the people of the city for the people of the country. Jazz songs were people talking about their experiences, man. That’s why some of the song titles are so wacky. Back in the day, more people were making music from the country, so you got a different experience from them. Out there, you have to fend for yourself in nature’s playground. Of course, things change as people transfer to urban situations. That’s what created the sounds we know today, whether from New Orleans, Kansas City, Chicago, Detroit, New York, Los Angeles, or wherever. The music became urban because it was a collective experience most people of a culture participated in.

But what happens when a certain experience is being introduced that fewer and fewer people are participating in? The experience becomes diluted. It becomes very confusing, and people question what is and what isn’t a part of that experience. Because we don’t have something concrete. Things are chaotic. 

PG: Is that chaos what led to the title of your next album with the Chosen Few, The World is On Fire?

IC: Well, it’s funny with that title. I wrote it a long time ago.  When I wrote it, it was referring to when the Amazon rainforest was on fire. But as time has passed, I have seen that this fire that we were talking about didn’t just involve the Amazon. It literally engulfed the entire world. 

This fire we’re talking about is not just a literal fire. It’s a metaphorical fire. It’s an emotional fire. It can be seen in many places, whether in all the horrid lynchings we’ve seen during the pandemic, or the planet actually catching on fire because of of climate change. It’s also the fire that motivates us to go protest and talk about the conflicts and war in Gaza, Sudan, and the Congo. The fire is also in our own war within our emotional spectrums and the search for words to describe the emotional needs and confines provided by it. 

PG: Going back to your statement earlier that music is a more abstract art than visual art, you often add visual elements to your live performances. What are your thoughts on the interaction between music and visual art?

IC: Anybody who knows me knows I’m into all kinds of art. And it is very important to have that appreciation because that’s what a renaissance is. It’s not just one kind of art, it’s all of them.

That brings up another thing too, though that is unusual about music. Many people think improvised music is supposed to be consumed for purely intellectual reasons. If that is the case, why the hell does anybody listen to it? The reality is that most people want to dance. God, I wish jazz hadn’t gotten so caught up in the “sit down and listen” mentality. You sit down all the time. If you’re working nine to five, you are probably sitting all day. You’re probably sitting as we’re talking right now. You know what I mean? And the one time we have an art form that’s supposed to serve as an emotional filter or as another form of externalized emotion, we are told to internalize it. And that’s what kills the music. 

PG: So, you believe improvisation-based music has become too intellectualized?

IC: Well, it’s not even intellectual. It’s not intellectual because your intellect speaks to the ability to adapt. If you’re not adapting to the energy of the band on stage, you’re not being intellectual. You’re being quite the opposite. It’s an emotional impotence that’s present. Or apathy, as we will call it. We get so caught up in worrying about what we look like. We tell people all the time, to sing like nobody’s listening and dance like nobody’s watching. We should all make music like we are the only person in the room. When I do that, I feel liberated. Let it go, man, let it go. You’re being strong for the wrong reasons. 

‘The Almighty’ is out now on Division 81 Records. It can be ordered on Bandcamp. More information on Isaiah Collier can be found here.

Photo credit: Michael Gaertner