Los Angeles is filled with wild color, bumper-to-bumper traffic and the beating hearts of thousands of transplants who are all fighting to make it big. It isn't exactly zen. But the second you step into the light-drenched apartment of Jesse Boykins III you may as well be in a yoga retreat in Goa. It's another world. There's a no-shoe policy.
In his minimalist apartment, coffee has been replaced by every type of tea: “green tea, mint tea, African Moroccan something,” he offers. The outside balcony rests above Magnolia Boulevard with its bodegas, cafes and dog groomers. There are few distractions inside: a stack of vintage Ebony magazines on the floor, some Buddhas dotted around, and a mattress. “In my mind I’m a member of Guardians Of The Galaxy,” he jokes. It's clear that Boykins' yogic superhero lifestyle isn't defined by loud bustle, but by the quiet noise away from it.
The 32-year-old Jamaica-born musician is relatively new to Los Angeles. However, his carefree one-with-the-universe vibe has been with him all throughout his travels. Having lived the past 15 years on the east coast - first in New York, then in Miami - Boykins needed fresh inspiration.
Now in LA, Boykins has met his perfect counterpart.
Before we get to the interview, he takes a stroll down the street in his sliders en route to his barber shop. He high-fives his neighbors and salutes the local businesses. He's the type of dude who makes sure he's aware of his surrounding environment and community, which is rare nowadays. Of course, he'll still whip his iPhone out and make an Instagram story, but he knows when to form real bonds and he's present in every conversation.
"The most chaotic moments inspire artists," he explains. "When you're in a noisy situation you have two ways [you can] go: you can let it take over you, or you take over it.” Spend ten minutes with him and it's easy to tell that Boykins is all about the latter. He's in control of his distractions, taking them in and then wielding their inspiration.
In New York, the energy was different: a multitude of different personalities and purposes all meeting in one place. “You have to be in a space where you're accepting of [things]," Boykins postulates, almost akin to a Buddhist teaching, but with a very Los Angeles tint. "I allow it to flow through me, I don't take offense to anything, I learn what I can and I allow it to impact me in the best way. That's how I find peace. I'm appreciative. I'm here. Even though this shit crazy right now.”
In New York, Boykins didn't feel particularly creative. He hadn't written a self-reflecting song for himself in a while – he was mainly working to impress others. In LA, however, the concept of seclusion has allowed him to sink deeper into this level of consciousness; one that allows him to cope with volume. “LA has taught me the true power of my mind,” he explains. In LA, he can piece together a myriad of ideas and execute his art to its highest form, rather than just settling for something that seems objectively “good enough.”
How does he get there? “A lot of things,” he says. “First off all, I accept that the world has always been crazy. People act so surprised when things happen but if you do your research you'll see patterns. History repeats itself, and technology means the speed at which it's repeating is faster.”
Boykins takes great comfort in history and looks to it for inspiration. He looks at people who defied adversity, and shined a positive light across different mediums of expression: music, art, and architecture. “I don't call that coping, it's just therapy,” he says. “I go to rehabilitation with my music. I train. That's how I look at the creative process.”
The just released Bartholomew is Boykins' first major release. It's a hybrid of cosmic R&B and psychedelic soul but it doesn't sound like anything else out there. Having been courted by all the big labels, Boykins went with legendary hip-hop imprint Def Jam.
It was a big decision to make as a staunchly independent artist, one who remains in charge of all aspects of his career; from song inception to production, engineering to art direction. Def Jam understood his vision, so Bartholomew remains in its own lane – as much so as the genre-defying back catalogues of Pharrell, Solange, or Frank Ocean.
Outside of genre, Bartholomew shifts genders - from its most soothing baritone to its highest falsetto - a motif that Boykins credits to his appreciation and respect for women and gender history. “It really doesn't make any sense to me that the woman brings us all into the world, nurtures and raises us, teaches us wrong from right and then we throw them away. The amount of things women have had to fight for, all the while taking care of the people they are fighting. I give less fucks about what people expect from the perception of me as a man,” he says. On Bartholomew, femininity and liberation from machismo makes for a deeply cerebral listen. It's this type of liberation that elevates Boykins' music from the earth plane to the space plane.
“I realize that there's two things that are constant in the world,” Boykins postulates. “The sky and the stars – the galaxy and the energy. Then everything falls in line.” Nature hasn't been translated and reinterpreted over and again by humankind. It just is. Expression in creativity is what Boykins uses as his guide to survive the ever-changing noise. “If all else is wrong in the world and I can't go outside because the radiation levels is too crazy, hopefully I got a canvass and a paintbrush. Then I'll be OK,” he smiles.
It really doesn't make any sense to me that the woman brings us all into the world, nurtures and raises us, teaches us wrong from right, and then we throw them away.
The innate appreciation for the universe has been with Boykins from the dawn of his own voice. He sang to fit in with a large Jamaican family among whom he was the “black sheep.” They sang in church, they sang to celebrate, they sang to socialize. For this reason he never had hard and fast inspirations. He's far more influenced by innovation than other artists per se. Hendrix, James Brown, Pink Floyd, Michael Jackson, Thom Yorke, Prince, Andre 3000, Kanye… It's the way they came to their genius, and not the music itself that informs Boykins' own seeking. “Sonically I'm open to anything,” he says. “It's what people did in their lives that inspires me. People making statements.” He mentions Brown's involvement in the “I'm Black and I'm proud” movement, the way Rastafarianism permeated a message of “one love” throughout the world, and Andre 3000's bravery in abandoning pure rap and making 'The Love Below', wearing skirts and wigs. “If he can do that I'm gonna push this shit as far as I can,” he says.
In a society that constantly seeks to put us down, make us feel less worthy, less accomplished, less complete, Boykins' is a message of eking out your own individuality, your true self. Not your projected “best self.” “I'm not from a rich family, I've moved around a lot, I'm from a place where the struggle taught you how to be uplifting,” he says. He mentions a picture he carries around in his mind from a visit years ago to Papua New Guinea, a country of extreme opposites in wealth. He was filming a video in a village where kids were running around in the rain in underwear and flip-flops: “naked and happy as fuck.” Every time he complains about something he remembers it. “These little kids were happiest with fucking nothing,” he says. “If I'm blessed enough to wake up and have all these things around me then I can find joy in something. Life is hard. It's no easy life. It's a fight. OK – but how do I make this better?” For Boykins, the ultimate way through the noise is to be a leader. “I want to progress the people,” he says, determined to blaze a trail for future generations to find new ways of rising above the noise.
He's only just getting started.
Photography by Bryan Carr. Styling by Alexis Bergens. First Look: Worship LA jacket, Sacai pants, Jesse’s own shirt. Second look: Bode pants, Jesse's own vintage jacket, shirt, and turtleneck.
