Jacob Collier - Is he special?

About a month ago, my wife and I attended a concert in Boston by English singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and producer Jacob Collier. For those not familiar with him and his work, he first appeared on Youtube about a decade ago with “Brady Bunch” style acapella arrangements of popular tunes and also his own originals, an ahead-of-its-time preview of the Zoom musical performances we would become so familiar with years later. After that first viral foray into the music world he has gone on to collaborate with musicians all around the world, released many albums, won awards, and built a devoted following in the niche he has carved out for himself. He’s also built a reputation for being a “special” musician celebrated with monikers like a “musical genius” or the “Mozart of Gen Z”. I’m a bit leery of hyperbole like that, which while it often is great clickbait or a convenient way to generally describe someone, often doesn’t really represent the whole person. So after years of listening to his albums, I had told myself that the next time he was doing a local show, I had to be in the room. My sense was that with the way the music sounded on the album, the snippets of videos I’d seen of live performances, and stories of the “audience choir” he’s become famous for, that there was no way seeing him live wouldn’t be an incredible experience, but I had to see it for myself.

In the lead up to the concert, I found it difficult to describe to many of our friends don’t know who he is. I’ve heard him described sometimes as a “musician’s musician”, someone who other musicians love because it’s easy to marvel at his talent or the imaginative and difficult musical devices in his songs. That label though can be construed as a negative too though, as his music sometimes gets criticized for being “too much” or “too out there”. Put another way, his music is not accessible or enjoyable to anyone except for those with a deep knowledge of music theory and practice. Even in the line up outside the hall, a lot of the venue employees were reinforcing this reputation saying things like “Oh, I hear this guy’s supposed to be pretty special”, but I didn’t really hear any response from someone attending beyond “Yep he is!” I wish in the moment I could have had something intelligent to say about what made him unique, but instead I just nodded in agreement and pushed ahead through the line so we could get inside. I believed there had to be more to him than just “being special”; that’s what I was seeking to find out by attending the concert. 

It’s worth acknowledging that I came into this performance as part of his devoted following already. It also seemed like nearly everyone else who was there was also coming from a similar place. That’s a fundamental part of building an audience in this day in age: with all of our digital access to artists, their music, and their lives, we go into live performances knowing a bit of what to expect. Why else would we spend our money and more importantly our time and attention going out and seeing live music when we could just stay home and listen to a recording. I began wondering what exactly I was looking for that I wasn’t getting from listening to the albums. Why was I so drawn specifically to see him live and pay the price of the tickets to be in the room? 

Oftentimes the conversations around why Jacob is “special” revolve around his impossibly accurate ear and singing, his ability to perform on a ludicrous amount of instruments (all of them self-taught), or his grasp of complex harmony and music theory and the way it manifests in his creative work. All of those things are true. All of those things also make him a singularly unique musician. All of those things show up front and center in a live performance. But I don’t think that’s what makes being in the room for one of his shows special. 

At the show, my wife and I packed into the MGM Music Hall in Boston with 5000 other people. There was a palpable energy in the room just before the concert got started as if the hall was a coiled spring waiting to release into whatever the night held for us. And that energy was returned to us in equal measure when in the opening number Jacob ran out on stage in what can be best described as a galloping sprint and before even saying a single word engaged the audience in call and response singing. It’s immediately apparent from the beginning of the show that he has a charisma and infectious energy as a performer that just lights up a room. You can tell that he loves what he does and more importantly, he loves getting to share that with other people, both the band on the stage, and especially the people in the room: the audience.  However, audience might be a bit of a misnomer, as an audience member at a Jacob Collier concert is more of a participant than a passive observer. He sets the expectation from that first call and response that opens the whole show, that we should sing along to the songs and participate in the music by dancing, yelling, or responding however we feel so moved. Famously too, every audience at a Jacob Collier concert expects to be conducted in multipart harmony from the stage as part of the “audience choir”, functioning like another instrument to be performed as part of the concert, in an arrangement wholly unique to just that night, that room, and that group of people.

People who come to his shows I think are inspired to come along for that participatory ride, because he shows up as unabashedly himself. Whether it’s nerding out on stage about the technical specifications for how one of the instruments was built, the musical jokes responding to the audience embedded within the songs, the loud and colorful outfits, the stuffed crocodile on the piano, or the inflatable tube men as stage decorations, each element of the show was quintessentially Jacob. Some may call that effective branding, and it is, but I think artistically it extends even deeper to a place of belonging. If he can create a space of belonging for himself on stage, leaning into the the vulnerability of showing us who he really is, not just the veneer of the virtuoso and performer, but the nerd, the people lover, the person with crazy ideas who isn’t sure if they all will work out, then we, the audience, will feel more able to show up in the room as our full selves too. 

His language when speaking to the audience spoke to a similar intention. He never once called it strictly a performance, but instead referred to the evening as an opportunity to “make music together”. It was clear from the outset that he viewed this as more than just an opportunity to listen to him perform, but that he really wanted to make music with all of us in the room. Stating that intention, both verbally and through the artistic choices he made throughout the program, like the audience choir, the constant ask for participation, and having honest conversations with the audience, illuminated a goal that was less about music and more about human connection. 

The word that comes to mind when thinking about this idea of music and human connection is “invocation”, literally to put in someone else’s voice. I believe at the core of his artistic mission is a sense of responsibility to invoke music in someone else. It’s the direct antithesis to the idea that making music is just for musicians. Instead, each song is an invitation to participate directly in the music making. That ability to invite people in no matter their self-perceived abilities as an artist or comfort with making music takes tremendous craft and talent. It’s difficult to execute technically challenging passages on an instrument or sing with good intonation, but it’s infinitely more difficult to make an audience member feel like they can join the music making and not be judged for their abilities. His charisma as a performer, his deep knowledge of music theory, his prodigious artistry as a multi-instrumentalist, singer, and songwriter, are all in service of creating an environment where the audience feels empowered to join in. He meets each of us where we are at and makes us feel like we can participate in a way that is safe, creative, and connecting. 

About halfway through the show he sat on the front of the stage and just talked to the audience about the process of making the most recent album, the last in a series of four collaborative albums entitled Djesse (Volumes 1-4) that represent his quest to seek out collaboration with other musicians on the widest and craziest possible scale. This project was a direct outgrowth of his first album entitled “In My Room”, which he recorded entirely by himself in his room and toured as a one man band. He said that throughout the process of recording and producing the Djesse albums he had learned so many things, many of them musical but most of them human. He said that, if anything, he felt more like a beginner than ever before and that he was less certain of things than he was at the outset, and that lack of certainty was actually a sign of learning and growth. To him, it was beautiful that he walked onto the stage that night not knowing exactly what was going to happen.

That spoke to what I had sensed was important about being in the room to make music with him, but couldn’t articulate until I’d actually experienced it. What I was hearing in the music, even on a digital album, was that it was meant to be experienced amongst people. That impulse was baked into even the smallest musical details; it’s all about human connection, and the best way to experience that music was live with other people. So while of course, we as musicians, can learn a thing or two from how he thinks about harmony or how he learns instruments (linked to a broader conversation about music education, which would be a whole other post), perhaps what we stand most to learn is how he and his music connect with people. Everything is in service of the goal of making music together. That’s the result of that “human learning” he spoke about. The impulse to perform and create music is about making art together. It’s about building a creative community in that room for just that movement, to remind us all that we belong to something bigger than just ourselves.

I came into the night questioning if Jacob is a “special” musician and after attending that night, I think the answer is yes, but not in the way I expected. His “specialness” is often used to set him apart from us and his peers, but what makes him “special” isn’t something that separates. The greatest gift I received from his artistry that night was what his music has to say about who we are and what we can do when we come together. In a way, it’s the opposite of “being special” as we typically understand it, because baked into the core of everything he does is the desire to make everyone in the room, everyone participating in the music making, feel like they belong, feel like they are “special”. That act of artistic generosity is so important in our world today. In a society that faces seemingly impossible challenges, the most powerful tool we have is our ability to empower those around us to work together. People like Jacob are showing us that through their creativity, their humanity, and most importantly their generosity. We’re lucky to have them and we have the opportunity to do the same, we just have to be brave enough to try.