Here For The Revival: Khamari Interviewed

Not many artists sit on millions of streams and a headline tour with only one project out. It’s a testament to just how unrelenting Boston-raised songwriter, producer, and multi-instrumentalist Khamari’s debut was, and how undeniable his impending RnB reign is.

Released in May, ‘A Brief Nirvana’ journeys through tales of heartbreak, purpose, and the self-actualisation that could only be found through raw unbecoming. Khamari’s voice is as striking as lightning yet as sweet as honey, paired with immersive storytelling that drowns you in the spillage of his emotions. Khamari is as skilled a vocalist as he is a songwriter, nabbing a nomination for R&B Artist of the Year at the Boston Music Awards, and placements on every major playlist.

If you’re a fan of ‘90s and early 2000s RnB, Khamari is carrying out an important mission. The vulnerability in his lyricism is uncommon in a genre tempted by captionable hooks and viral-ability. Khamari pours into his pen. And with a devout following ready to bet on his takeover, the investment has surely paid off. As he prepares to embark on a national tour, CLASH got a chance to sit down with the soulful crooner to pulse check on how he’s acclimated to an industry in flux, his perspective on the state of modern R&B, and what’s on the horizon in the new year.

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You’ve had an incredible year artistically. What’s been the most surreal moment thus far?

A couple of months ago, Spotify put on a showcase in New York and just being able to see everyone that came out, the way they were singing the lyrics back, that was so surreal. Just because of the reaction, seeing people genuinely care about the music.

It’s hard not to gravitate towards your lyrics. I think people really appreciate your intention in songwriting. Can you speak to your relationship with storytelling?

I wouldn’t say lyricism is a lost art, but I do think there was more importance placed on it before. Now, I think people don’t care to invest a lot of time in it. Every time I sit down to write something I’m very thoughtful about what it is I’m trying to say and the way that I want to say it. The best artists, and the ones that I’ve connected to most, are very thoughtful about their words. It’s not just about melodies; it’s about what you’re saying and how it connects to other people. They’re stylish about the way they do it, the way they phrase certain things. It’s important to place the right amount of thought into what you’re saying and how you’re saying it, to be intentional.

That feels like a testament to the roots of RnB. Who were the RnB artists you grew up listening to in the back of your parents car that informed your passion for the genre?

My parents listened to everybody. My dad was always listening to Jay-Z, and my mom was always listening to basically every R&B giant: Keyshia Cole, Alicia Keys. They both had such a broad taste, so I really got introduced to everything across the spectrum.

I can see that integration; how you honor the history of R&B, while still driving the genre forward. In that same vein, who are the peers you’re inspired by?

I don’t listen to a lot of music from today actually. I do listen to a rapper name reggie, he’s got a lot of singable hooks. I listen to Smino. Usually what I listen to is older. I think with the internet we’re all feeding off of each other, which is great, but for me, in order to break that loop and make something that sounds outside of the circle of what’s already being made, I want to listen to what other people aren’t listening to.

It’s funny because there’s this rhetoric and debate that RnB is a dead genre and was destroyed by the internet. What’s your perspective on people who want to preserve what R&B used to sound like?

I think it’s very shortsighted when people say that RnB is dead. RnB hasn’t succumbed to the internet; the entire world has. The status of RnB right now is a direct reflection of the lack of intimacy we allow ourselves and the personal experiences we let ourselves share with the world. We’re just not in a place right now that’s very open and vulnerable, and that’s across every genre. Sonically, there are always artists honoring old RnB. I think it’s just the fact that things are moving so fast and there are so many artists, it takes a little more time to find them and sift through what you don’t like.

I’d love to dive deeper into your perspective on our relationship with the internet because your social media presence seems very limited.

I had a moment of reckoning where I realised the power of social media. There’s an importance, so I try to utilise it in ways where I can make connections with fans and my people. It’s a tool to further the character of the art. But I don’t hang onto what I’m posting because it’s out of my character, and having a project that lives on its own with its own identity where people consume it, think about it, and make it theirs, is way doper than force-feeding or overloading someone with content. It’s about doing things for likes and not because there’s an artistic intention behind it. Everyone is different, but a lot of the artists I really look up to and admire came up like that – utilising their platforms in a very intentional way. 

The story you tell on your single ‘On My Way’ is one thought up within intentional solitude. What was the biggest adjustment you had to make when chasing your dreams and moving across country?

The most jarring part of the journey was the drive from Boston to LA. I was prepared to drive but once I started driving, I realised the reality of it. I was trying to power through to a certain degree to finish it but when you’re at the mercy of being in the middle of nowhere, needing to find a place to rest, you realise you’re not a robot. I think what I’m still dealing with now is ultimately a reflection of the state of the world, but having a hard time finding home in LA. I have a place I stay but I haven’t built the community I would have hoped to build at this point.  

Being from Boston, what are the parts of you that still feel very alien to your new life?

Every time I go back to the east coast there’s a very quick-paced energy that I definitely miss; waking up and being on the go, everyone doing their own thing. Out here, it’s slower-paced and everyone takes their time. It’s cool, but to me, I feel like it’s a trap. I need people around me to push me. 

What is this next era for you?

I’m being as thoughtful as I was with the first round of music. I’ve gotten back into making music because it’s a different time and people aren’t going to wait years for new music. I’m working on new things but trying to figure out what this iteration looks like, and the aesthetic of the music is.

Do you feel like if it were up to you, there would be way more time in between projects?

Not necessarily more time, but really just whatever I need. If I need two years, I need two years. That’s another thing that I miss about the industry even five or ten years ago, if you were an artist in a certain place you could take your time. You could make sure it was exactly how you wanted it. I put out an album six months ago and I’m already getting DMs like “Where’s the next project?” I’m like “I just put out an album! Sit with it for a little bit!” I’m still listening to my favorite albums that came out fifty years ago. Frank Ocean can take his time, Kendrick Lamar can take his time. It’s about finding the balance between a standard of quality and staying true to your vision.

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‘A Brief Nirvana’ is out now.

Words: Jazmin Kylene

Photo Credit: Shamaal Bloodman