Michael Kiwanuka - The Weight of the Soul

Michael Kiwanuka's music looks decidedly backward. His voice seems to hold the golden dust of the Sixties and Seventies, and his lyrics reflect an unstoppable urge for change, albeit filtered through a contemporary sensibility, where the desire for transformation blends with a sense of unease and displacement typical of our times. Since his earliest days, comparisons to the great soulmen of the past have multiplied: he shares with Marvin Gaye an introspective depth, the ability to turn every song into an inner reflection; he embodies Bill Withers's emotional sobriety, that rare gift of giving strength to simplicity, of letting voice and melody speak without need for artifice. When the melody swells, you can feel the same vulnerability as Otis Redding, the way every note seems to dig inward, unhurried yet inevitable, like a river that already knows its destiny. And then there's Terry Callier, in the fluid fusion of folk and soul, in the ability to turn a song into a story, a path to be walked slowly, attentively, with soul.

But it would be a mistake to dismiss Kiwanuka's music as a mere echo of the past: his art, though rooted in a history that precedes him, is not nostalgic. From those who came before him he gathers a few fragments, a few details, but he reassembles them electrically with his guitar's unmistakable bursts. He doesn't lean on tradition, he transforms it, walking a path halfway between the mainstream and independence.

His story begins in 1987 in London, born to Ugandan parents who were political refugees fleeing Idi Amin's regime. From a young age, he developed a visceral passion for the guitar, which led him to study at the Brit School, the famed breeding ground for British talents such as Adele, Amy Winehouse and King Krule. Before establishing himself as a singer-songwriter, he had toyed with the idea of becoming a jazz guitarist, but left the Royal Academy of Music after a discouraging end-of-year review. He settled, then, for becoming a session musician, playing guitar for various artists, including the rappers Chipmunk and Bashy.

The turning point comes just past the age of twenty, when he begins sharing his music online, catching the attention of Paul Butler of The Bees, who becomes a key figure in shaping his sound.

Early works

Before Home Again (2012), his debut album, he releases two EPs that help bring him to the attention of the public and the music industry. Tell Me A Tale (2011) features the title track of the same name, a sumptuous, sturdy piece enriched by horns and percussion with a retro flavor. The second EP, I'm Getting Ready (2011), reveals his more intimate, folk-leaning side, with the title track showcasing his gift for writing delicate, enveloping ballads. These early works earn him a deal with Polydor Records, and both songs mentioned will find a place on his first album.

Home Again is unquestionably a brilliant debut, one that reveals the English artist's personality. Some songs already seem destined to leave their mark: "Worry Walks Beside Me", an aching blues number that confirms Kiwanuka's talent without needing to lean on the shadow of the great legends of the past, "I Won't Lie", with its nocturnal, melancholic orchestration, and the nostalgic warmth of "Any Day Will Do Fine", which sounds as if it came straight off an old Michel Legrand record.

There's something archaic about his melodies, a naive enchantment that recalls pre-Pink Floyd psychedelia, the innocence of the early British folksingers captivated by the America of Bob Dylan and Paul Simon. Kiwanuka blends jazz-soul and folk with the ease of someone who has fully absorbed the lessons of Van Morrison and Traffic, and yet, within this web of echoes and suggestions, his voice never tries to assert itself with exuberance: instead, it whispers and caresses, working on nuance rather than direct emotional impact. While the vibrant ethno-jazz fervor of "Tell Me A Tale" hinted at a more aggressive intensity, the album opts for a velvety sound, a refined balance that Paul Butler's production turns into a sophisticated, timeless sonic fabric.

His debut album is a huge success, going gold. Yet Kiwanuka is soon overwhelmed by doubt, the product of an almost paralyzing humility: he turns down a collaboration with Kanye West and even goes so far as to write an entire album, "Night Songs", only to shelve it, deeming it unsatisfactory.

Yet he manages to turn that sense of inadequacy into creative strength, giving life to "Black Man In A White World", a song symbolic of his output and the centerpiece of his second album, Love & Hate. Produced by Danger Mouse and Inflo, this record marks an essential moment in his artistic journey.

The album opens with the monumental "Cold Little Heart", a suite with an expansive structure that unfolds for several minutes through enveloping orchestration, ethereal choirs and Pink Floyd-like touches, building a suspended atmosphere before Kiwanuka's voice makes its entrance. It's not just a striking introduction, but the track that will change his career forever: chosen as the theme for the HBO series "Big Little Lies", starring Nicole Kidman, "Cold Little Heart" turns the young singer-songwriter into a name to reckon with, propelling him toward a success that until then had seemed far off.

The record also tackles social themes, as shown by the aforementioned "Black Man In A White World", written in the thick of the Black Lives Matter movement, though more often it moves on an intimate, spiritual plane. The melodies become weightless and dreamlike on tracks like "One More Night" and "I'll Never Love", while taking on an elegiac, aching tone on "Fallin'".

If the echoes of the past remain evident, amid tight grooves and horns with a Motown flavor, this time Kiwanuka seems to have gained greater awareness, making his instrumental forays sharper and more structured. His guitar is a constant presence, at times rough and crackling, at times delicate and melancholic: it's acoustic and intimate on the title track, while on "The Final Frame" it flares up with electric, corrosive tones. And then there's "Father's Child", where the instrument seems to soar amid strings and gospel choirs before dissolving completely, giving way to the fading notes of a piano.

From the Mercury Prize to today

After a handful of sporadic projects, including a collaboration with UNKLE on the track "On My Knees", part of the soundtrack to "Roma" — Alfonso Cuarón's film, winner of the Oscar and the Golden Lion in Venice — in 2019 Kiwanuka releases his third album, simply titled Kiwanuka. Judging by the cover, where the London singer-songwriter appears decked out like a modern-day Charles V, and by the choice to title the record with just his surname, the third album suggests a newfound sense of awareness and responsibility on the artist's part. It is, in a sense, the portrait of an artist fully embracing his own identity and legacy, presenting himself to the Black musical universe not as a mere heir, but as an authoritative voice.

It's no coincidence, then, that Kiwanuka is the English singer-songwriter's blackest record, the one where the Floyd-esque guitars of Love & Hate, now almost extinct, give way to the warmth of vintage old-school soul. Less obvious and brash are the political stances, which nonetheless form a constant undertone, radiating a bright, positive sense of equality.

The backing vocals of "Living In Denial" and "You Ain't The Problem" drive two fantastic tracks, with the power to transport you straight into the warmth of the ghetto, whether that's the Bronx or Camberwell Green. The second song especially, which together with the bold colors of the title on the cover could work well as the opening of a good old-fashioned blaxploitation film, the kind full of doting, funky mothers, curlers, and humanity overflowing beyond social hardship. The Afro groove, the guitar as wiry as the back of a defensive cat, are a celebration, leading into a chorus that sounds like a motto, a warm exhortation not to blame yourself.

Also quite lively is "Rolling" which, with its full-bodied bass and spry vocals, slides slowly into the following "The Kind Of Love", an enveloping ballad, a true thoroughbred soul number with minimal piano flourishes and dramatic strings. Split into two sections, "Hero" is another heavy hitter. After a rarefied, aching intro, it's time for an insistent guitar riff, which, towing a hefty bassline, then erupts into jarring Hendrix-like flourishes. The equally long "Hard To Say Goodbye" is slightly less successful; the admittedly rather trite outpourings of the verses are nonetheless rescued by a delightful, cinematic finale. The most modern, and dare we say, "whitest" song of the bunch is "Final Day", in which Kiwanuka's voice, feather-light, floats amid field recordings of crowd noise and murmuring piano and guitar, finally flowing into the lyrical flourishes of "Interlude (Loving The People)".

It closes with two hushed ballads bathed in the glow of timid, vintage synthesizers: the mournful "Solid Ground", another jaw-dropping vocal performance, and the faint "Light", shaded by delicate electric guitar embroidery.

The album is met with enthusiasm and even manages to reach number two on the UK chart. Its impact, however, isn't limited to the public, but is also recognized by the most prestigious awards, such as taking first place at the 2020 Mercury Prize.

In 2024 Kiwanuka released his fourth work, Small Changes. The title seems like a call to arms against the modern notion that demands constant evolution. After five interminable years of waiting, flanked once again by his inseparable producers Danger Mouse and Inflo, the London singer-songwriter returns with an album that has no ambition to revolutionize his style, but rather to reinforce it with small adjustments.

The record opens with "Floating Parade", a track already well known to audiences thanks to the many summer live shows where it had been aired. The intro is more than promising: a smooth groove recalling '70s sounds, an elegant bassline and a chorus enriched with memorable backing vocals. The title track, on the other hand, offers moments of great intensity, thanks to dreamy guitar solos interweaving with a powerful string arrangement, highlighting his natural flair for crafting cinematic atmospheres.

The album continues in soft, slow-burning tones, but remains a pleasure to listen to. The heartfelt lyrics of "One And Only" and the concentric circles of piano that repeat and intertwine with dramatic violins in "Rebel Soul" serve as the prelude to the diptych formed by the two "Lowdown" tracks, songs that, more than any others, recall the bearded Ugandan-born artist's earlier recorded output. Here it's his guitar that takes center stage, with warm, electrifying solos slotting with surgical precision into the blues-soul blend that serves as the record's sonic backdrop.

More flashes of guitar accompany the sumptuous arrangement of the refined "Live For Your Love", a ballad that evokes the languid atmospheres of Sade, with its balance of sensuality and melancholy. At this point, one would expect a bold move, a finale that raises the stakes, a flourish to remember. Instead, Kiwanuka opts for a more restrained close, relying on songs steeped in soft elegance ("Stay By My Side", "The Rest Of Me", "Four Long Years"). Tracks that are, without question, impeccably arranged, yet which prefer to caress rather than surprise, sacrificing the grandiloquence and sonic daring that made him a master at turning every song into a unique experience.

Small Changes remains, in any case, an enjoyable album, capable of entertaining and captivating, but it leaves behind a subtle regret: the feeling that some things could have stayed untouched, and shouldn't have changed at all.

Contributions by Gianfranco Marmoro ("Home Again") and Michele Corrado ("Kiwanuka")

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