When Shamir Bailey sings, there’s a moment of disconnect. You have never, ever heard anything like this before.
Channelling Antony Hegarty, Grace Jones and Michael Jackson at his squeakiest and most epic, Bailey sounds like a fallen angel who’s lately suffered a broken heart and is riding a killer groove back to happiness. Which is ironic as he grew up in America’s very own Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada – a desert town which, he intimates, is a cultural wasteland that probably would be improved by a tactical nuclear strike.
If you haven’t heard of Shamir until now (and should you not belong to the ranks of professional scenester-dom, that is entirely plausible), allow us to make introductions. Signed to XL, the world’s most fashionable record label (that actually manages to, you know, sell records), Shamir has busted from the blocks and arrives garlanded in accolades. On his buzz-inducing early single ‘On The Regular’ he suggested Prince singing Thom Yorke and impressed further with this summer’s long play debut Ratchet, a tour-de-force by turns moving, throwaway and intensely soulful. Yes, we think it’s time you were in on the secret.
“Everybody else wants me to be this or that,” he says of the tidal swell of hype. “I just want to make music. It’s about the art.The other stuff doesn’t matter.”
Yeah, so EVERYBODY says that – even artists for whom it is transparently All About The Money. Shamir, however, walks it like he talks it. He’s been an outsider as long as he remembers – popular enough (courtesy of a super-sized serving of charisma), but always happiest doing his own thing. Random example: he was nominated for prom king at high school – yet skipped the shindig so that he could attend a Paramore show (it is possible he enjoys Paramore ironically – isn’t it?).
“I didn’t want to go to the prom,” he shrugs. “I wanted to do something fun. Prom is okay. I’d rather be watching a band. That’s always how it has been with me. I do my own thing and it doesn’t bother me what anyone else thinks.”
In isolation, that quote paints him as cocky – an individual who understands they are blessed with a special talent and so officially could not give a flub what anyone thinks. In truth, he’s sweet and deprecating, palpably shy.
One thing that has baffled Shamir consistently through his rise to Next Big Thing is the focus on his voice. He doesn’t get it when people describe his delivery as heavenly and haunting. When he listens back, all he hears are the flaws (as he perceives them).
“It doesn’t feel like an amazing voice to me. It’s definitely not up to ‘par’. It’s cool that people like it – I put more emphasis on my artistry and my music. Honestly, I thought people would gravitate to my lyrics, not my voice.”
We should probably talk about Vegas. He grew up in the burbs – a desert, literally and metaphorically. “Vegas”, of course, has connotations; there isn’t much room in the city that raised naff to an art-form for something as experimental as Shamir.
“In Vegas, if you’re not a cover band, you’re not playing – plain and simple,” he says. “It’s not healthy.”
A dearth of progressive venues in which to perform is compounded by Shamir’s extreme youth. Because he is under 21, it’s tricky for him to play clubs in Nevada – or indeed elsewhere in the United States. Which is why he initially came to widespread attention during a tour of Europe.
I bring up the prom thing. In a town such as Vegas, not turning up to your high school dance is sort of a big deal – a two finger kiss-off, practically. Were his parents disappointed he wanted to become a musician rather than someone who goes to prom and onto college and a conventional career? He laughs – actually, they’re the exact opposite.
“My mom wanted me to do music rather than school,” he says. “She is a writer, my aunt is a poet. And I’ve never been a normal kid. When I was younger, instead of going out to play, I would stay inside and knit, cook and write songs.”
Shamir strikes me as the kind of quirky teenager who, in my school at least, would have spent a fair chunk of the day having his head inserted down the business end of the loo. Did he attract bullies?
“They tried to bully me. Once they realized I didn’t care, it was a case of well... ”okay, whatever”. After that, they left me alone.”
He recorded, and mostly wrote Ratchet in New York. Coming from the suburbs of Vegas, Manhattan was (in a very good way) overwhelming. The noise, the energy, the restlessness – and more than anything, people who weren’t afraid of being arty for arty’s sake... THIS was the stimulation he had craved all his life.
“I lived there three months,” he says. ‘To be in this huge city having arrived from a small town is, honestly, incredible. Where I grew up is kind of sleepy. The music scene in New York is amazing and people are so helpful and friendly.”
In a delicious twist, in New York he ended up rooming with Chloe Chaidez of Kitten, a band he worshipped as an adolescent. “Can you believe that? I’m watching this band, cheering as they play. And then I’m living in New York, writing my album, rooming with their singer. It’s kind of mind boggling.”