Bradley Jago - A Brilliant Artist Exploring Queer Identity

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Bradley Jago - A Brilliant Artist Exploring Queer Identity

When you first listen to Bradley Jago, right away, you are overpowered by the sheer force of his voice. It takes centre in what feels to be an intimate stage, one that exists outside of space and time, where you and only you become privy to not only the beauty of Jago’s soulful voice, but also the profoundness of his lyrics.

Rain is a song that is full of feeling, full of something rare in music - accountability. Jago tells me that the song is about change, letting the rain wash over you and forgetting the mistakes that you’ve made. He asks if we can hear the rain pour, and we can. Behind the beat, there is the unmistakable pitter patter of gentle rain sounds. But this question conceals another. When talking to Jago about the intention of the song, he told me: “I was… looking back at everyone I dated and I was like “Oh damn, there’s some people that I’ve actually fucked over a little bit.” … And Rain is an apology to those people, to say I’ve changed now, and even though I have caused you pain, I hope we can move forward after. [It] is a metaphor for the pain I have caused them.”

The song itself has smooth jazzy influences. Jago’s clear voice overlaps itself in a layered harmony with a gentle underscored bass, Jago seemingly having a quiet moment of reflection to himself, as he sings to “let it rain”. The song’s intimacies are intentional. According to Jago “It’s kind of like a quiet moment to yourself. You’re at the gig with me in this intimate venue.”

Then, the drums kick in. There is a desperation to the song emphasised by the changed tempo - the emotion becomes fevered as he sings “let it rain” - the words repeating, creating a heightened emotional effect - it feels as if he is begging, bargaining, hoping. There is no longer just a sweetness and a softness and a sadness. There is a frenzy, a fury to be understood. And that’s what love, remorse, and pain is like.

There’s also important depth to be acknowledged within Jago’s music. Jago himself is a queer artist, who writes from the queer perspective. Why is this important to be acknowledged? Because in a song that is this intimate and honest, you need to understand why it is also brave.

Queer identity comes with an enormous amount of negatives - it’s a terrifying thing to out oneself, and make yourself inherently vulnerable to the disdain of others, and also yourself. Jago is changing the game by bringing this honesty to his music, in a world where queer people still find themselves being judged, discriminated against, the context of one love song can change from being a sweet romantic piece to a dramatic profession of bravery.

Jago is interested in analysing both sides of the spectrum of queer experience. “I think I’d want to write about the negatives [of queer identity]. Being queer is celebrated a lot (as it bloody well should be). But also there are negatives that people aren’t talking about.”

It’s important to note that queer art, music and writing should not be made distinct by its queerness. Of course it adds depth and context to the art itself, but it is important to acknowledge the art as full of feeling, and therefore, universality. As Jago himself points out: “If I can relate to a straight song, a straight person can relate to my queer song.”

So what’s in store for Jago for the future? He is doing festivals Victorious, and The People’s Lounge - “Because the music is so honest, I don’t want to do too much to the music. I want it to be really raw and still sound great - but very authentic and sound like it’s coming from my soul.” He also tells me: “I’m writing a track at the moment called ‘New Gay Sadness’ (there’s a little snippet available on Jago’s instagram) - it’s about the gay yuppies in London who are living their life but cannot find love. There’s a lot of pressure… ‘okay, we’re getting to a place of equality, still a long way to go… it’s like ‘oh you should be happy now’ but you have all these other life pressures of why aren’t you in a relationship. Why haven’t you achieved this yet?’”

You can catch Bradley at the Victorious festival on the People's Lounge stage at 5:10pm on the 27th of August. Listen to his amazing track RAIN here Here

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10
Jun

The Death of Letitia

Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “We’re ahead of our original schedule, but there’s still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Jeeni raised £100K in 6 days and we're working hard to get more investors on board. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he’s agreed to share his work with all our members. He’s a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here’s one of Mel’s latest! Black lives matter. Unless black lives feature in a videogame, in which case they don't matter a toss. I still remember the feeling of hope and despair when I played Daley Thompson's Decathlon for the first time. That was way back in the Olympic year of 1984, and it was a primitive sports simulation from Ocean software for a little home computer called the 48k Sinclair ZX Spectrum. Daley Thompson was an Olympic gold medal winner from Notting Hill. He had a fine body, and a great moustache, and according to his skin he was the son of his assassinated Nigerian dad. Anyway, I fired up the game and there on my glowing colour monitor was the pixilated figure of Daley, the great black athlete, running along a red cinder track. The thing was, the programmers had made him white. No, I couldn't believe it either. A huge crowd of spectators also appeared in the gameplay, and every one of them was as white as a Ku Klux Klan convention in a chalk pit. It's not as if no black characters ever appeared in videogames. Almost all the assassins, hoodlums, terrorists, monsters and mobsters were black, and their purpose was to be killed off willy nilly. Apart from Michael Jackson. He was the hero in a Sega videogame called Moonwalker and his role was to rescue kidnapped children and take them home. So there was nothing creepy about that, was there. Mind you, wee Michael was mostly as white in the game as he was in real life. For a real black and white issue from the early twenty-first century, I have revisited Ethnic Cleansing, developed by Resistance Records for PC desktop machines. That's the one where the white player gets sent off on a quest to murder blacks. It is equal opportunity racism, because you also score points for killing Latinos and Jews. And speaking of equal opportunities let's hear it for the computer character Letitia who appears in an update of Deus Ex, which is set in a cyberpunk future. Letitia lives on a rubbish dump, she is as horny as she is simple, and she speaks minstrel drivel in the sort of deep-South accent last heard in a Mel Brooks parody. You couldn't make it up. Except that's exactly what they did. And shame on you Mary DeMarle for writing it, Amanda Strawn for acting it, and Square Enix for publishing it. In the USA, over 70% of all African Americans play video games, but they make up less than 3% of game developers, which tells me quite a lot about the state of the play over there. This side of the pond, things are much better, where we have over 10% of people working in game development of a BAME demographic. That's a higher percentage than their number in the national working population, and way higher than in UK publishing, tv and music. This is good news, but it's where the good news ends. Last time I visited a major gaming studio in pre-lockdown, I did see several black faces. One was on security at street level, one was behind the reception desk, two were behind the counter in the canteen, and one was swilling out the bogs. The number of black and minority ethnic decision-makers in the UK computer gaming industry is shockingly low. As a result, race has lagged way behind gender and sexuality when it comes to stereotypes in gaming. Mainstream game designers tend not to question a norm, and they rarely rock the boat by refusing to carry out a questionable storyboard handed down to them by predominantly white hands from above. Most game designers I come across have less creative imagination than Rufus my Irish Setter, not to mention a much poorer sense of loyalty and the inability to lick their own genitalia. Video games have always followed movies in characterisation, and they are painfully stiff with stereotypes. Historically, lazy, myopic creatives have allocated blacks four roles - the violent black, the servile black, the sidekick black and the comedy black. I am removing sports games and music games from my list, since they exhibit no imagination whatsoever, but simply copy real people from the real world, unless you happen to be Daley Thompson or Michael Jackson, of course. The blame for all this lies squarely with the course leaders who purport to teach video game creation in universities and colleges. I have never met a creative course leader who is darker skinned than me, and I'm a sort of mottled puce. They may well instruct their students to bung in a character of the negro persuasion as if to fill some sort of racial minority quota, a bit like when those tv adverts suddenly started to feature blacks doing non-traditional things. Like working in building societies, and driving new cars. The change is coming through the independent video game creators, the so-called home-brew developers, and the change had begun in the UK way before the Black Lives Matter movement gathered such momentum. Creative change always comes from the mavericks and rarely from the corporates. As for the people who play the games, next time you come across a racial stereotype you know what to do. Take a knee. To the groin of the writer, programmer and publisher. The Death of Letitia, from Deus Ex: Human Revolution Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

04
Feb

Zeeteah Massiah - ‘Wat A Ting’, Single Review.

Zeeteah Massiah’s 'Wat A Ting’ is a brilliant, tongue-in-cheek poke at misinformation and its relentless spreading, all the while being a dancehall banger in its own right. As an ambassador of Jeeni, Zeeteah Massiah is certainly something of a Jeeni royal. She has been a big part of the origins and early stages of Jeeni and her support is invaluable. Zeeteah Massiah is a Number One Billboard Dance Chart star who specialises in Reggae, Jazz and house music and has worked with the likes of Tom Jones, Sting and Robbie Williams. Now, she makes incredible music with her husband, Paul. The clarity of the production in ‘Wat A Ting’ is perfect. The off-beat pulse is so neat and perfectly edited and that’s with so much else going on; broken glass, rapid reggae drumrolls and several layers of backing vocals all fly over each other but this track never sounds messy or unintentional. The attention to detail in the mix for this single is exhaustive and thorough. That approach to production results in all sonic layers staying in their corner, but interacting with each other in total coherence and clarity. Everything in ‘Wat A Ting’ is tight, staccato and playful in its nature. It sounds like Zeeteah and her husband, Paul had so much fun with every layer of this track. As a counter-point to the short, abrupt timbre of the rest of this song, the pre-chorus is cleverly, much smoother with the addition of sweeping backing vocals and strummed guitar parts. This soft, calmer section is a great spot for the deceptively, reassuring lyrics “No need to fear now, what’s going on here now.” before the accepting chorus, “We've all gone crazy.” Zeeteah’s voice is pitch perfect and so adaptable; her singing is soft and caring for the pre-choruses but aptly manic and wild for the ‘Wat a ting, wat a ting!” choruses. The care and precision she carries in her voice could only be that of a seasoned professional vocalist. Although the track is undeniably fun, it addresses an incredibly important issue, “They told me there was COVID in the 5G, they told me the earth was flat.” Underneath the lively, mischievous tone of the track, 'Wat A Ting’ is an exasperated resignation to the persistent spread and sharing of false information as a result of fear and ignorance, “It’s all very clear now, we’ve all gone crazy.” Check out this fun and important track here: https://jeeni.com/wat-a-ting-zeeteah-massiah/ And check out Zeeteah’s Jeeni showcase here: https://jeeni.com/showcase/zeeteah-massiah/ Album review How can Jeeni support artists like Zeeteah Massiah? JEENI is a multi-channel platform for original entertainment on demand. We’re a direct service between creatives and the global audience. • We give creatives, independent artists and performers a showcase for their talent and services. And they keep 100% of everything they make. • We empower our audience and reward them every step of the way. • We promise to treat our members ethically, fairly, honestly and with respect. • Access to artist liaison and a supportive marketing team.

03
Sep

Mel's World

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

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