I continue to find new ways of seeing and listening to the world
What’s your earliest musical memory?
It’s a fun one. I remember sitting on my mother’s lap, looking up and seeing the violin above me. It was like a ceiling, because she played it with me on her lap, so I was right inside the music. That, as a sensation, doesn’t really leave you.
Do you view music as a form of expression, or a means of communication?
Both, I think. It’s like a language, in a sense. You can reach into the world, into yourself, and find ways of expressing and explaining the way you see things. Music is best learnt how language is learnt: surrounded by masters of that language. I grew up surrounded by people who were playing, talking about and expressing music, and that felt like a way of finding myself in the language.
Your mother is a violinist, a conductor and a teacher. How important was she to your musical development?
Massively. She was one of the founding pillars [for me] of how music could feel. I remember going to see her conducting – she’s an extraordinary conductor – and watching her stand in front of a group of about 50 students at the Royal Academy of Music in London, watching her move her body and initiate the sound. It’s an amazing thing to see as a child. When I think about my musical development – and I’ve gone on to do all sorts of things across many different kinds of music – a lot of the expressions that feel right begin and end with that vision of a person like my mum, who can be so positive, giving, warm and knowledgeable about her craft. She’s able to not just communicate to the people but get it out of the people themselves.
You’ve said your mum taught you that, if you listen, everything in the world is singing to you. That’s such a beautiful concept. How did you interpret that advice?
I continue to find new ways of seeing and listening to the world. As a child, a lot of the world can be quite big and unknown. In a sense, anything that sings to you is your friend, not an enemy. Knowing that even these big, scary things I don’t understand are singing… to me, it’s like an encouragement that everything in the world can be spoken to and listened to as a confidant. Going to school – and school is filled with all sorts of weird people – you’ve got the kids who want to be big and strong, kids who are going to be bullies and want attention. Going through all of that and it all being a song is really powerful, because it teaches you to alchemise the world into your own goals – to live life the way you see it.
My mind is full of crazy colours and crazy ideas
You got your break performing covers on YouTube as a teenager. Does that help you relate to younger artists who are now finding an audience on TikTok?
Ten years ago, when I came up, internet culture was very different from how it is now. When I found YouTube as a tool to share some of these multi-instrumental, multi-vocal, pretty unusual renditions of popular songs that were highly crafted and intentional, I used [the platform] as a way to express that. Now, I think that creators are used by the social media platforms a little bit more, so TikTok kind of eats up creators – it’s a business. Sometimes I see these young creators and I think, ‘I couldn’t be more different from you, because I’ve never tried to compete with other people.’ That’s not to say that I don’t exist within other people’s worlds and that I haven’t been inspired by tonnes of [other musicians]. But TikTok is not necessarily equipped, or doesn’t seem to prioritise, people who are making quiet, gentle work on their own terms.
You launched a collaboration with Crocs in 2023. Why do you love them so much?
Because they’re super-comfortable. I’ve worn nothing but Crocs for the last five years. I can think of probably 10 to 20 times I’ve worn any other shoes – like when I was taking driving lessons. You can’t do that in Crocs, but basically everything else you can. Actually, I once took a penalty against Stormzy in Crocs, and that was disastrous: the ball went extraordinarily wide. So I also wouldn’t recommend playing football in them.
You’ve said previously that Djesse Vol 4 would be a space for untapped ideas you haven’t yet found a home for. What kind of ideas were you playing around with?
Vol 4 is the culmination of all the things I’ve learnt in the last five or six years while travelling the world and collaborating with all these different kinds of people. I went on a world tour, and one of the things I’ve been getting into is recording my audiences singing some of my favourite sounds. [In 2022] I captured every audience singing and I used those recordings to create a choir that’s 100,000 voices tall. That, as a feeling, a sound and a statement, has really motivated this album in a big way.
The audience experiments you’ve conducted (in both senses of the word) demonstrate there’s an innate sense of musicality in everyone. Did you know it would work?
I don’t think, “Right, I’m going to get the audience to sing in three parts.” I just find myself on stage, I find things that work, and then I’m done. When I played Glastonbury [in 2023] it was my first time, and there were 30,000 people. I’d trained for that moment, to get the audience to move in certain ways, knowing that none of them are musicians, just people of the world. The beautiful thing was that I got them in three parts without saying a word to them. That was one of the moments when I really realised like, “Wow, this is for everyone.” Music is for everyone. There’s no line between “I’m a musician; I’m qualified” and “You’re a person; you’re not qualified” that doesn’t exist. All people need is to feel part of a group, part of a community, and just be given permission to give it a try.
I took a penalty against Stormzy in Crocs. Disastrous
Collaboration is central to your music, and you have worked with an enviable list of artists. How do you choose who to work with?
I didn’t necessarily go into it with a very solid plan. There was definitely a dream list of collaborators, but I didn’t plan how I wanted all the music to sound. The only criteria are like, “Do I love and respect you? Yeah. OK, let’s work together.”
You’ve been around so many amazing artists – were there times you wanted to pinch yourself?
Every day. I think one of the privileges of being friends with some of these legends – people like Quincy Jones, Herbie Hancock and Hans Zimmer – is the stories these people tell you. You wouldn’t believe them. Quincy’s sitting there saying he was having lunch with Picasso and then Igor Stravinsky walked by, and you’re thinking, “That’s inconceivable – you were around my age when these people were kicking it in Paris.” It’s wild.
Looking back, how does the 20-year-old Jacob Collier differ from the person you are now as you approach your thirties?
The main change from 20 to 30 for me is not a musical one but a human one. By the time I was 20, I knew quite a lot about music, but I hadn’t necessarily lived it out. I remember being obsessed with Brazilian music, with samba and the way the groove feels like it’s rolling like an egg. It’s beautiful, but I hadn’t been to Brazil. So it’s like, you go to Brazil and you feel that music in your body and you collaborate with Brazilian artists, speak to them, and then you really know how samba feels.
You’ve achieved so much at a young age – what do you foresee in the next stage of your life?
I think one of the biggest challenges will be just creating some space for life to take me by surprise. The last 10 years have been extraordinary by anyone’s standards, but they’ve also been very constant and full-on. I haven’t really had a break once in that whole time – well, a couple of holidays here and there, but really it’s just been constant vision and constant work. It’d be really important and fun in the next few years to experience life that doesn’t feel so urgent.
How do you relax during downtime?
I can’t think of the last time I chilled out for a while. My mind is full of crazy colours and crazy ideas, so part of the decompression process for me is just letting those ideas come out. But a good game of badminton will always do me right.