Q&A with Jozem
The Toronto based artist by way of Kenya and Rwanda delivers his debut album It Came To Me In A Dream incorporating culture, soul, sexuality and everything in between.
Photo: Joe Bulawan
Jozem based in Toronto (via Kenya &Rwanda), is a multifaceted being that uniquely intersects his skills; describes himself as a dreamer, but he is also a physician and an incredible artist. He can compose an atmosphere through his voice with an enigmatic but dreamy flow that unlocks feelings and thoughts with his lyricism that somehow leaves us grounded and in peace. The single Youth videoclip is a remarkable work with the film director Mbithi Masya that culminated in a visual experience that echoes this awakening of senses that Jozem introduces and plays along with natural elements, landscapes, and Mbithi with the storytelling and movement. Jozem unmasks and heals the audience from an unfortunate past that connects us with the experience of not being heard and wanting to be seen as anyone else or as the single Foreign - reminds us to stop and rethink where we want to go or, more precisely what have we become. The artist presents us with these experiences that many of us can relate to, especially as a human being forced to be dissociated from norms based on his race, gender, class, sexual orientation, physical and psychological ability and other intersections. But more specifically, about inner growth and awareness of what is seen as a success in this hectic and unstable system that we live in. Youth was released on April 2022, and it definitely "opened our hearts to the world to see" his individual vulnerable journey of awakening.
Video: YouTube/Jozem
With the release of the official videoclip of the single Youth, you remind us again of the cinematic and sensorial power of your work. How was the video production process?
I met the director, Mbithi Masya several years ago and as soon as I saw his debut feature film, Kati Kati which he screened at the Toronto international film festival, I knew I wanted to work with him. When I wrote Youth, I knew I wanted to shoot a video for it in Kenya because I spent my formative years there, and the song evokes intense nostalgia for me. So I put two and two together and right before the pandemic met with Mbithi in Nairobi, sent him a demo and we came up with some ideas, which didn’t end up panning out for a multitude of reasons. Earlier this year Mbithi sent me a film by Maceo Frost of some Kenyan children who were attending a ballet school in the middle of the Kibera slum, minutes away from where I grew up in Nairobi. These kids were learning a completely foreign art form in an environment that did not encourage or facilitate it, but watching them persevere and make the best of their circumstance brought me to tears. It resonated strongly with me, that feeling of being different but learning to march in my own truth. I immediately knew that I wanted to have some of the dancers from the school featured in the video. The two dancers in the video, Mary and Samuel, are graduates from this ballet school. The video is in part, an homage to the kindred spirits we've lost along the way, those who taught us and allowed us to be ourselves in a world that did not understand us.
You play along with natural elements and landscapes in your lyrics and visuals. How is your relationship with nature and landscapes?
Some of my most inspiring and grounding moments are when I am in nature. I have a thing particularly for watching sunrises and sunsets in seclusion, but value the sunrises more as you have to make a lot more of an effort to catch these (plus I happen to be more of a morning person). There’s something about them that really puts things into perspective for me- the fact that they have been happening for billions of years and will continue for billions of years after we cease to exist reminds me of how small and insignificant we are, but simultaneously gives me an appreciation for the beauty in every little moment that passes. I extend that sentiment to nature in general. The idea that nature/life will always find a way to exist despite humanity’s destructive forces, shows me how small we are but also somehow makes me see my own significance in all the insignificance.
Tell me more about the stories behind your single covers, the component of collage and silhouettes in the photographs resonate a lot with your work, could you share more about it?
Picking cover art that is meaningful has been important, especially for this project. The cover art for three of this project’s singles, Breathe, Youth, and Goderich are pictures I personally took over the years for my own archive, but they bore such significance to me and my story that it felt natural that I used them for cover art. The cover art for Breathe, the first single I put out from this album, was a picture I took of the hospital I was born in, taken on my first trip back to my home country, Rwanda that I’d left as a baby. I’d always felt a pull to go back but hadn’t gotten a chance to do so until 2019. This was where it all started, Breathe calling upon the complicated history of my country, and my yearning for figuring out what home means to me. Being there brought up such complex emotions that I am still trying to figure out but ultimately ignited a new relationship and connection to this country and continent that I love so dearly. The cover for Goderich was taken in a place called Goderich, Canada, where I wrote the song as I was working and dealing with some questions about my art and fighting self-doubt and writer’s block. The cover for youth was a picture taken in my elementary school in 2015, the first time I had been back since my family moved to Canada when I was in my early teens. The cover and song call upon my youth, growing up in an environment that suppresses individuality, but learning to be your authentic self in a world that pushes us to conformity, escaping from a groupthink mentality and embracing who you are, while acknowledging those people who support you in life’s journey. The collage for the album art was created by my friend, artist and illustrator, Dylan Glynn. The collage really represented the album so well, bringing to the fore that brokenness, an attempt to bring myself back together; it highlights the scars, the vulnerability that truly is the essence of what I speak about in this project.
I like the way you portray your body and your soul always being connected to what you build in the inner self and geographically always related to where you are from. Is there a geography that inspires you more to produce?
It is usually more of a specific state of mind that inspires me to produce, often influenced by things like my geography and physical space. I think a big reason for this was the soul searching that I was undergoing in my twenties, trying to find and connect to the idea of ‘home’ and what that means for me, be it in physical/geographic form or intrinsically- emotionally and spiritually. Having moved a lot in my youth, I think this has been a recurring theme for me and perhaps is one of the reasons that I am often trying to feel grounded in nature or otherwise, in values and memories- attempting to re-enforce fragile memory by pulling certain experiences, sounds, smells, textures and trying to translate them into something that endures through my art. Incorporating field recordings in this album really anchored those memories for me, breathing additional life to the music in a way that felt more visceral, and permanent.
On the same line, myself a fan of the film “Rafiki”(a film by a Kenyan director, Wanuri Kahiu) not only for being a queer African film but for representing the colourful intimate capsule that both lovers build, aside from the conflicts in their families and etc. Do you feel that you had to create your private world in order to bloom creatively and spread it in a safe space?
I love that film! It is such a beautiful film, but is incredibly sad how the film, made by Kenyans- for queer Kenyans in part- wasn’t publicly screened in Kenya because of it’s queer content. I think most queer Africans, growing up on the continent had to create a private world for survival, often channeling the trauma and pain through art. Sometimes, we have no other safe means to express ourselves than through our art- I know for me, music is the purest, most vulnerable form that I have known to express myself. It has been so heartwarming to see the light shine through all the darkness over the years. Some of the most inclusive/safe spaces I've experienced in Kenya have been artistic spaces and I’ve been watching queer artists flourish despite all the negativity and pain. I’ve even seen films like ‘I am Samuel’ that highlight queer Kenyans who come from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, who are able to stand in their light as queer people even without some of the protection that coming from wealthier, more influential backgrounds might offer. There is such a long way to go, but seeing more queer folks from different walks of life feel emboldened to tell their stories and live their lives unapologetically is hopefully a harbinger of true and sustained change.
I saw that being a physician is your other path, I think more than ever we have to accept that were interdisciplinary beings, and crossing different interests and fields is such a powerful way of approaching our contemporary world. Somehow you restore our health throw your musical body of work. Does it go beyond how you feel about your music?
I think for me both paths are intrinsically intertwined. At some point in my life, I used to actively separate the two for an unfounded fear of judgment or lack of understanding. Few of my friends in medicine knew I was a musician and vice versa. I think the older I have become, the more the notion of us being multifaceted, complex human beings has really sunk in as I readily embrace my different identities that intersect in complex ways. Medicine and music for me, as seemingly unrelated as they sound, have actually been complementary and necessary aspects of my being, both being crucial for my survival in so many ways. They feed into each other, they nourish each other. I think both come from a place of empathy, truly feeling and understanding vulnerability. I am blessed to have the opportunity to pursue these things that I love but I know it’s not always the same for everyone, so I will always feel uneasy defining
myself solely by my career as society would have it. Additionally we never know what tomorrow brings, so it’s always healthier in my opinion to define ourselves outside of that. So I can say that I am a brother, a son, an uncle, a godfather, a friend; I am Black, African, queer and also happen to be an artist and a physician. I am a sum of all of these things (and many more), but not a single one of these things can fully define me on its own.
Our readers would like to know your highlights in the past years that make you continue or perhaps forthcoming projects?
I think a big part of my twenties/the last decade of my life was really figuring out who I am and cultivating a healthy sense of identity that is intrinsic and not as rooted in others’ ideas of who I needed to be. That sentiment is really entwined in this album. Working through that, through therapy and other means, I have been able to reflect on my relationship with myself and thereafter, my relationship with others, getting to a point where I am more open to loving and being loved in ways that are fulfilling. I still have a lot to share that was written in my twenties but will be leaning more into relationships in my new works!
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