PROFILE: Leon Jean-Marie is reshaping the future of soul
Leon Jean-Marie shouldn't be here. He should be stuck in a windowless studio someplace, producing another artist's record. He should be wrapped round a tree in Epping Forest in his AC Cobra kit car... Harmonising with a five-piece R&B group... Advising tourists on holiday hotspots for the coming season... Wasted in a doorway... Sitting in church... Dropping out in St Lucia...
There were a lot of things that should have, could have, got in the way of Leon's emergence as one of the brightest musical talents for 2007. Handily, he bested them all. Luck, talent, some vibey connections and a brainload of brilliant music saw to that. Little wonder, mebbe, that his first release is two slabs of urgent future-funk, motoring beats, twanging riffs and vocals that Prince would swap his high heels for. We're gonna party like it's 2099. Hear Leon's limited edition seven-inch 'Scratch'/'Make It Right' and you'll hear a 24-year-old from far East London who mixes up Beck, Bill Withers, Nirvana, the aforesaid Minneapolis funk-munchkin and many more besides. A vocalist and electronic maestro who, having dreamt up his tunes in his home studio, is now working with some of the smartest producer-collaborators in the world.
Gary Crowley on BBC London called it funk'n'roll. Can we call it Rock&B? Does unfinished album track 'Bring It On' really sound like The Steve Miller Band's 'Abracadabra' fed through a Noughties Brit-soul time machine. Have Island Records scooped a rare talent? Yes, yes, yes, yes..
'All the great hook-ups I've had, including my record deal, have been on a vibe,' says Leon. That is, little money changed hands, only mutual respect. In the two years before he signed his record deal, Leon had rare talents flocking to work with him. 'This person's heard it, and he's signed to... Now this person's heard it, and he's worked with... And now this person's passed it to this person...'
Leon Jean-Marie's first involvement with music came aged 10, when his dad bought him a guitar, kindling an early love of Nirvana and Led Zeppelin. In his mid-teens he was part of a five-part R&B group called Syndicate. 'You know, five black guys, bit like Damage...' He laughs at the memory of his ultra-smoove former self.
But Syndicate had recorded some demos in a top-flite London studio. In those windowless rooms full of kit Leon felt he'd found his calling. One of the owners of the studio spotted his enthusiasm and gave him as a job as runner. As he learnt his way round a mixing desk, Leon began experimenting with his own tunes, and immersing himself in the arcane world of music production.
Thing is, at home Leon was also being told he was wasting his time. His mum and dad - like most of his family, they were born in St Lucia - are old-fashioned. And they're born again Christians. Leon's an occasional church-goer too, when he can. But whereas he sees his spirituality as enhancing his music, his dad's more rigid values meant he felt music was no job for his son. It was bound to end in disaster. He needed a proper job, and a degree.
So Leon went to college, albeit to study Performing Arts, then landed a place at University. But he deferred his place and went to live back home. He had so many song ideas, 'I just wanted to dive into the industry'. He was a studio whiz and a gifted multi-instrumentalist, skilled on drums, bass and keyboards. But still his dad was having none of it. 'I was as stubborn as my dad,' he says guiltily. The barneys got so bad that Leon moved out, roaring off into the night in his trusty Fiat Punto. He lived in his car, at mates', semi-rough. It was a period of, he admits, drugs, sex and occasional depression. He can laugh about it now, but...
'There was one night I had sleep in this guy's porch. He was out raving and he forgot I was coming. He came in at dawn, off his head, literally stepped on me - he was screaming, I was screaming - he was thinking I was some sort of burglar. The funniest part was staying with a friend of mine - his parents went to Barbados for two months. It was a two-month house party. Being homeless didn't feel like a problem any more! My mates were out and out Essex boys, as chav as you could go. So there were some weird situations with girls...It started getting a bit worse when it was time to leave there. I headed to south London and saw the darker side of what London has to offer. The drugs thing became more of a problem - it got a bit excessive. I was kipping with people I didn't know. Mentally, I got a bit out of touch...'
Throughout this period Leon had to put aside his music. He didn't even have a writing pad, far less any instruments or studio access. But ideas were fizzing up inside him. He was desperate to get them out. And to get himself out - 'It was like I was in the devil's belly. Then he spat me back out.'
Finally, after eight months of not speaking to his parents, he went home: his dad had a cancer scare. Happily the test results were negative. But the traumatic experience reunited Leon and his dad. His dad still didn't think the music thing would work out. But he gave it his blessing. 'All the music I'd thought of while I was homeless was logged in the memory. 'Cause I was denied it for so long, it all spewed out...'
With renewed focus and enthusiasm Leon got his act together (he barely drinks 'n' stuff now either; his wild times were already out of his system). More tunes spilled from him, like the ultra-catchy brass-driven 'She's Gonna Kill Me' and the tech-folk lament 'Beg'.
Word of his talent spread. Mark Ronson got on the blower. This was some months before his work with Robbie Williams, Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen would make him one of 2006's most in-demand producers. Did Leon - who wasn't even signed at this point - want to come over and do some tunes?
And on it rolled. After hiccups and humps and detours, Leon Jean-Marie was, finally, flying. Even his passion for building kit cars had to take a back seat. There were thumping great songs to get out of his head and down in the studio...
And to perform on stage. 'The live thing's a work-in-progress,' says Leon. 'I want to blend technology and the raw, live aspect. I've seen all the tricks people have done on stage. If you can imagine having The Rolling Stones mixed with Kraftwerk - laptops and rawness, seamlessly integrated. Beck's last tour, with the puppets, came pretty close to what I want to do live. His band were playing on a dinner table. I'm working on stuff like that...'
Leon Jean-Marie is in the palatial Swedish studio of Bloodshy, knocking out tunes for his album, due next summer. He's hunched over a desk in Mark Ronson's New York bijou hit factory, wondering which of his 30, 40 tracks should make the cut for his debut album... He's in The Bus Space, West London, bouncing ideas around with Gorillaz producers The Rural... He's sitting at home, sweating over his studio, working on his first full single release for early '07...
He's still driving that AC Cobra, fast round the country lanes of Essex. But he's braking into corners now. He's overcome a lot of obstacles; Leon Jean-Marie ain't gonna prang out now.
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