Topaz Jones
For a young artist, his voice and cadence are extremely polished, and he is just as comfortable allowing a beat to fill space as he is moving through stanzas in double-time. But perhaps equally impressive is how emotionally and intellectually transparent his work feels. He processes the world around him through a deft use of timbre and twang.
Jones offers doses of his diverse interests throughout his chameleonic catalog thus far, which includes The Honeymoon Suite, from 2014, and a few singles from his upcoming album, Arcade, which is due out later this month. On the recent "Tropicana," a colorful record that could peel stagnant bodies off the wall at a house party, he converts a childhood affinity for wrestling into a clever testament to individuality. On "Coping Mechanism," from 2013, he fills a notebook full of grim details from quotidian black life, looking for some catharsis: "I pray for mothers of their kids, 'cause it's painful yo/To raise a child inside a space where there just ain't no hope." On an unreleased song called "Grass," he turns his secret pleasure of enjoying a sunny day on a blanket into a ballad of forgiveness for tuning out the heaviness of the world.
Born George David Brandon Jones, he grew up in Montclair, New Jersey, under the "activist eye" of his mother, a Harvard scholar and holistic doctor who once volunteered in the Black Panthers' breakfast program. She enrolled him in a small learning community at a neighborhood public high school with curriculum tailored to social justice. On weekends, Jones and a few friends would travel to NYU to study in a program for aspiring music moguls. (He later graduated from the Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music.)
Jones grew up listening to a plethora of funk. His father, Curt, a musician who played in the funk bands Slave and Aurra in the 1970s and 1980s, could often be found in the back of the house, strumming a guitar in his small studio. Those days soaking in his parents' wisdom are perhaps no more visible than in Jones' single "Powerball," a funky dream of finding fortune through chance and hard work. The song recently debuted on Beats 1 Radio, a moment that Jones views as confirmation that he doesn't need to stray far from his roots to be heard. Or, as he puts it, "I don't have to sound like Lil Yachty to get on
For a young artist, his voice and cadence are extremely polished, and he is just as comfortable allowing a beat to fill space as he is moving through stanzas in double-time. But perhaps equally impressive is how emotionally and intellectually transparent his work feels. He processes the world around him through a deft use of timbre and twang.
Jones offers doses of his diverse interests throughout his chameleonic catalog thus far, which includes The Honeymoon Suite, from 2014, and a few singles from his upcoming album, Arcade, which is due out later this month. On the recent "Tropicana," a colorful record that could peel stagnant bodies off the wall at a house party, he converts a childhood affinity for wrestling into a clever testament to individuality. On "Coping Mechanism," from 2013, he fills a notebook full of grim details from quotidian black life, looking for some catharsis: "I pray for mothers of their kids, 'cause it's painful yo/To raise a child inside a space where there just ain't no hope." On an unreleased song called "Grass," he turns his secret pleasure of enjoying a sunny day on a blanket into a ballad of forgiveness for tuning out the heaviness of the world.
Born George David Brandon Jones, he grew up in Montclair, New Jersey, under the "activist eye" of his mother, a Harvard scholar and holistic doctor who once volunteered in the Black Panthers' breakfast program. She enrolled him in a small learning community at a neighborhood public high school with curriculum tailored to social justice. On weekends, Jones and a few friends would travel to NYU to study in a program for aspiring music moguls. (He later graduated from the Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music.)
Jones grew up listening to a plethora of funk. His father, Curt, a musician who played in the funk bands Slave and Aurra in the 1970s and 1980s, could often be found in the back of the house, strumming a guitar in his small studio. Those days soaking in his parents' wisdom are perhaps no more visible than in Jones' single "Powerball," a funky dream of finding fortune through chance and hard work. The song recently debuted on Beats 1 Radio, a moment that Jones views as confirmation that he doesn't need to stray far from his roots to be heard. Or, as he puts it, "I don't have to sound like Lil Yachty to get on
