Finding a Universal Consciousness: A Conversation with Ambrose Akinmusire

It is sometimes easy to compartmentalize the internal and the external world. One can perceive personal thoughts as entirely an expression of spirit, removed from their surroundings. However, there is no sturdy wall between inside and out, only a permeable membrane. One’s personality and emotions will inevitably be shaped by experiences encountered during their life, including things beyond their control. Consider composer Julius Eastman, who made clear in a 1976 interview that “What I am trying to achieve is to be what I am to the fullest… Black to the fullest, a musician to the fullest, a homosexual to the fullest.” His work could not be appreciated fully without contextualizing it within the joy and sorrow he lived through. It is no coincidence that some of Eastman’s best-known works had titles that would make the most straight-laced orchestra attendees clutch their pearls. Pieces like “N—R F—T,” “Dirty N—-r,” “Evil N—-r,” “Gay Guerilla,” and “Crazy N—-r” are not merely named to be provocative; they are intended to reflect his own thoughts on the racism and homophobia he encountered. This inability to fully divorce the internal and the external is also evident in Ambrose Akinmusire’s honey from a winter stone (Nonesuch, 2025). 

Akinmusire refers to honey as a self-portrait, and, when listening to the music, one can certainly sense the intimacy such a descriptor evokes. There are moments of reflection, space, and hushed tones. Somehow, the sound of a large ensemble – the trumpeter with vocalist Kokayi, pianist Sam Harris, synthesist Chiquitamagic, drummer Justin Brown, and the Mivos Quartet – is made to sound like a smaller chamber ensemble endued in subtleties. Given the presence of a string quartet, this chamber-like aesthetic is understandable. However, classical music is only one element at play. Hip hop and jazz are infused into the work as well. Growing up in North Oakland during the crack era and interested in more popular music, you could not tell the leader’s story without hip hop. Same with the freedom he relishes in the improvisation that sits at the heart of jazz. Reflective of how Eastman called his own expansive approach to music “organic music,” Akinmusire interjects these ideas with those of Western classical in a natural and freely flowing way. Ultimately, they are all part of his singular person, interacting on a level playing ground. Their combination does not seem forced. Instead, one is led to believe that not allowing them to naturally interact – as they do in his own life – would be an act of imposition. 

But honey explores the influence of the external on the internal in ways that lie beyond merely stylistic differences. Just as Eastman’s work partly reflected his experiences as a Black man, so do Akinmusire’s a generation later. “Bloomed” is both a continuation of the artist’s long-lasting expositions on police brutality and the death of Black men. “MYanx” speaks of Black anxiety and mental health. While addressing societal problems larger than a single person, they inevitably shape Akinmusire’s personal thoughts. Or, as he notes, the record is about “the fears and struggles I personally face, as well as those many Black men endure: colorism, erasure, and the question of who gets to speak for my community, and why… There’s also the constant negotiation of what happens when I don’t conform to certain expectations or when I choose to reject those imposed on me. These are the complexities I navigate daily.” One cannot explore the story of who Akinmusire truly is without confronting these realities.  In doing so, the trumpeter again draws inspiration from Eastman, a master of the use of repetitive motifs who some – including Akinmusire – credit as the first minimalist. In Akinmusire’s case, a similar use of repetition allows the artist to confront the repetitiveness of a society that fails to adequately address its problems and to expose the folly of such status quo. 

Akinmusire long ago established himself as one of the most distinctive voices on trumpet since Roy Hargrove. But in taking the brave step of exposing his inner person – and how it has been shaped by external circumstances – he goes one step further. With honey from a winter stone, Akinmusire cements himself as one of the finest composers of his generation. The album paradoxically drips of warm sweetness and cold rigidity, something that can come only from deep and honest reflection into one’s own heart.

PostGenre: Honey from a winter stone is a very distinctive title. Your album titles are generally an art in and of themselves. What are the origins of this one?

Ambrose Akinmusire: Like most of my titles, it comes from several different things; different feelings. I don’t know if I’m in a phase or if it is just because I am getting older, but these days, I get a strong image in my mind and go from there to establish a title. That’s what happened with Origami Harvest. I had an image in mind of a sepia-colored photo of a Black man in overalls with a satchel that was supposed to be full of cotton but instead was full of origami cranes. I don’t know where that idea came from, but images like those have shaped my album titles over the last few years. I also live with an amazing artist who influences me a lot. While I swim in words, a lot of the titling is also her influence on me. 

PG: Since you mentioned Origami Harvest, I have seen you perform a few times, but one of the more memorable ones was at Newport with that project in 2018. The musicians on honey from a winter stone differ to some extent from Origami Harvest – you have Kokayi rapping instead of Kool AD, for instance- but they both conceptually combine elements of jazz, hip hop, and contemporary classical music and both were with the Mivos Quartet. Do you see honey from a winter stone as a continuation of Origami Harvest, or are they distinctly different?

AA: Both, actually. It’s funny you were at that gig because it’s the only one that particular group did with Kool AD and Marcus Gilmore. We recorded together and did that gig, but then Justin [Brown] and Kokayi came on to replace Marcus and Kool AD, respectively. And Chiquitamagic joined us. We toured for a few years, off and on, doing the music of Origami Harvest with the updated version of the group. In that sense, the current group is a continuation of the original version of Origami Harvest because it formed from that initial configuration. But, in another sense, this band is not a continuation of that one since the approach and the music are different between the two records. 

I’m into basketball. And, sometimes, when a basketball team makes a trade and one person comes on the team, it changes the whole team’s approach. Even if the rest of the team has been playing a certain way for years, the addition of one player changes the entire group.  Here, we have the addition of three different people in Chiquitamagic, Justin, and Kokayi. So, of course, the team will change.

But the two albums also differ more conceptually as well. With Origami Harvest, I was mostly trying to sit two elements next to each other so they could have a conversation. We had the string quartet that, for most people, represents the classical music genre. We also had other elements that represent hip hop or jazz. I wasn’t trying much to integrate the different styles. I wasn’t trying to push them into each other. I was just trying to sit them as close to each other as I could. With honey from a winter stone, they’re all there at the same time, having a conversation. 

PG: Jazz and hip hop undeniably come from the Black experience. Lesser discussed are the great Black classical composers. For one, honey from a winter stone was influenced, in part, by the work of Julius Eastman. Did you put  jazz and hip hop elements next to, or in communication with, classical music partly to bring awareness to great Black classical composers as well? 

AA: No, no. I’m trying to be past any of those conversations about genre. Of course, there are Black composers who should have gotten credit or should be getting more credit now. But right now, I’m not even that interested in that. I’m just trying to reach for something beyond any of these conversations, even though they are important. I am trying to transcend all of it. I’m less concerned with labels and categories and more aimed towards finding a universal consciousness; a theme that unites us all. 

PG: So, you see music making as a spiritual practice then? 

AA: For me, yes. Yes, it is. But, at the same time, and on this specific album, I’m talking about very specific things. It’s almost like when people ask how you feel about the word ”jazz.” Man, I don’t think about it. I’m too busy creating. I mean, we can talk about that, but I’m just creating and trying to make sure that whatever I create is in line with what the music wants to be. And I think that puts me in line with something bigger than all of us. 

I’m more concerned with what effect music has on me, listeners, and on society. Even more importantly, what effect does the music have on future generations? What is it making you feel? Who cares about all that genre shit? Sure, it’s jazz. OK. But is it still jazz if it doesn’t make you feel anything? I don’t know.  I think the beauty of Black music and Black art is that, at its best, it forces you to reevaluate things. It forces you to feel something. When people talk about something being soulful, I think that’s what they are talking about. 

PG: Of course, that may tie into the history of great Black art, more generally. For one, there are some moments in the lyrics of “muffled screams” that sound reminiscent of parts on [Kendrick Lamar’s] To Pimp a Butterfly (Aftermath/Interscope, 2015). 

AA: Man, you know, you’re not the first person to say that. Kokayi wrote the lyrics for the album. He’s a genius. I wrote some emails to him with some stories – not stories, really, just reflections on what the songs were about. We had a few back-and-forths, and then Kokayi freestyled with them. He’s a freestyle master. He’s freestyling from my perspective and from his perspective, and some of the things that he can relate to. But since he’s freestyling, each time we perform he does something different. He’s always improvising.

PG: There also are certain points on the record where you sound like you are taking inspiration from Miles Davis]’ electric era. For instance, at times, the trumpet part on “MYanx” presents itself in a way that seems inspired by “Spanish Key” on Bitches Brew (Columbia, 1969). Was Bitches Brew a reference point for honey from a winter stone?

AA: Man, that’s great. That’s something that no one else has touched on. I love Bitches Brew. That album is very special to me because of the community feeling it gives off. Besides just being an amazing album, it feels like it is showing a community of people at a certain time and space who love to make music together. That’s the same feeling I got in the studio with this project. 

Somehow, when I was recording this album, I didn’t know much about the process of how they made Bitches Brew. I’ve played with Herbie [Hancock], Dave [Holland], and Jack [DeJohnette], but we never really talked about that. I imagine that they all were in the same room, just feeding off each other, and that’s the way it was for this album. I’ve thought about that a lot. And I think that, yes, there are sonic representations of that feeling. Bitches Brew is definitely an influence, especially on that track. 

PG: honey from a winter stone also directly connects to not only the prior works of other artists, but also seems to tie back to your own past recordings. “Bloomed” references back to “Hooded procession (read the names out loud)” [on the tender spot of every calloused moment (Blue Note, 2020)], which itself connected back to “a blooming bloodfruit in a hoodie” [Origami Harvest (Blue Note, 2018) which itself ties back to “Rollcall for Those Absent” [The Imagined Savior is Far Easier to Paint (Blue Note, 2014)]. “Owl” may be connected to Owl Song (Nonesuch, 2024)]. And the formatting on the title of  “s-/Kinsfolks” is similar to that used for several songs on your solo trumpet album, Beauty is Enough (Nonesuch, 2023). Did you always intend for these connections to be on honey from a winter stone or are they more of a natural byproduct of the fact it is you behind all of them?

AA: I think the latter. Yeah, it’s all coming from me. But I did also consciously make those connections. I think throughout my career thus far, I’ve always looked for these motifs. I’ve always talked in my music about the killing of Black men. This project is sort of a self narrative but it is also a continuation of the hooded procession. That goes all the way back to “My Name is Oscar” on my first Blue Note record [When the Heart Emerges Glistening (Blue Note, 2011)]. And from there, there is a through line to “Roll Call for Those Absent” up to “Bloomed” on this album. I’m always trying to continue that line. For me, sometimes these pieces continue growing. They are like my children  – after I have them, I can’t…

PG: Abandon them.

AA: Yeah, you don’t abandon them, you know? That’s something I love about Joni Mitchell. And Wayne Shorter. I love the last period of Wayne Shorter’s career where he went back to all of his older things like “Footprints” and said, “Listen to them now that they’re adults.” Joni did the same thing with ”Both Sides Now” and other songs of hers. She let the lyrics grow and develop. It is a conscious decision of mine to keep tracking my own songs. 

PG:  Another influence on the record, which we mentioned earlier, comes from the works of Julius Eastman. How did you first discover his works?

AA: My obsession with him started years ago when I was studying Steve Reich’s music and asking a lot of people about him. I asked a Black composer what he thought of Steve Reich, and we talked a little for a while. He asked me if I had ever heard of Julius Eastman. I told him I hadn’t, and he recommended a couple of things to check out. I was instantly struck by Eastman’s music. And then also just him as a person. The context of Julius Eastman is deeply inspiring to me. He was a gay Black man at a time when both were viewed even worse by society than they are now. He didn’t get the credit that he deserved. He may have been the originator of minimalist music, and I find all of that very inspiring. 

PG: Do you think the reason he does not get the attention he deserves is primarily due to racism or homophobia, or because he died so young [ed note: Eastman died when he was forty-nine years old], or a combination of the three? 

AA: No idea. We can only speculate the reason why. All I know is that he didn’t get it. He’s starting to get it now, but he certainly didn’t during his lifetime. But, even now, he doesn’t get credit for starting [the Minimalist] movement or even being a part of that movement. In a way, he reminds me of someone like Elmo Hope or Bud Powell who started a big artistic movement but didn’t get credit for it. 

PG: Eastman addressed issues of social justice in his works through minimalist music – music built around repetition. Do you see the use of repetition as an important way to expose the flaws and repetitiveness of the status quo?

AA: Yes, and I wonder if it was the same for Julius Eastman. I can’t speak for him. But for me, as a Black man in America, I sometimes obsess and fantasize over being able to control time. Being able to slow down life. Being able to pause life. Being able to run things back. Being able to erase parts of your past. All those things. All of that is almost literally related to repetition and controlling time. Slowing something down. Pressing the same note over and over again and slowing it down. Rewinding it. I have become obsessed with that. 

And I wonder if that was the same thing with Julius Eastman, just controlling your time here, because I often feel like life is pushing you and controlling the time for you. Especially here in America. I don’t think that’s Black or white. It’s just that here in America we’re taught to work, and go and go and go and go and go and go. It’s nice to be able to be in my practice room composing, trying to slow down time gradually or speed it up or pause it. Or, to slowly introduce elements in it, so you can fully know each melody, each person, or each situation. 

PG: The materials for honey from a winter stone reference how the album is a self-portrait. How do you feel this most differs from your expressions of yourself on prior records?

AA: Right. I think that up until this album, my recordings have been me speaking on my views on the world or what I experience in response to external factors and forces. I think this album is what I experienced internally. It reflects my concerns, my fears, and my trauma. All of those things. I think it’s me looking inside as opposed to looking outside. 

PG: Was it more difficult to write these pieces because they presumably require more inwardly reflection?

AA: No, because my process is that I just write and write. Then, after I’m done writing, I ask myself what something in what I wrote is and where it came from. That process has been the same for this album as my prior ones. I just realized that with this one, I’ve had a period of deeper introspection. It is what it is. But, no, it wasn’t any more difficult. 

PG: You will be performing at this year’s Big Ears Festival in both a solo performance and with the group on honey from a winter stone. As to the latter, how do you feel presenting this group live will most differ from the album?

AA:  I think that, live, this project feels more like a small group than a large one. I feel we accomplished that on this album, too. But, on the album, you can feel the layers on top of each other. 

Albums can be great and all that, but they always feel like a condensed version of what we do in real life. It’s like a photo. You can take great photos, but you never can fully feel what a person is like through a photo. You might feel it a little bit, but when the person’s in front of you, it’s a whole different experience. With an album, even though this one goes long, there are always formatting limitations pressing against it that do not apply in a live context. Live, things can stretch and fit how you want them to fit. Nobody feels the pressure of making something shorter or longer. We can let the music breathe.

‘honey from a winter stone’ is out now on Nonesuch Records. It is available on Bandcamp. Akinmusire will be performing a solo set at the Big Ears Festival on March 27, 2025 and with honey from a winter stone on March 28, 2025. On the 28th, he will also be part of a conversation with Nate Chinen. More information on Akinmusire can be found on his website.