Harry Connick Jnr: ‘I saw a billboard of a Victoria's Secret model and I married her'
Harry Connick Jr is a musician best known for winning multiple Grammy Awards. Here, the 57-year-old talks about losing his mother at a young age, how he first noticed his future wife, and working with some 'amazing' women.
I lost my mother, Anita Livingston, to ovarian cancer when I was 13. Mom was a bright, 'woody' woman – she didn't really follow the norm. She was sensitive and communicative.
When I was five, I wanted to run away from home. Rather than convince me to stay or tell me I was being silly, Mom said, 'Sorry to hear that.' As I went out the front door, she was right behind me with her suitcase. She said, 'You're right. I don't like it here either. Let's go.' I started crying and told her I didn't want to run away.
When it was time to lay down the law, Mom did, but she always made sure we had the power to make our own decisions. My memory of her is frozen in time. She'll always be young to me.
Mom became a lawyer in the mid-1950s. She ran for the position of Louisiana Supreme Court justice when she was diagnosed with cancer, against seven men. Because she was a public figure, they found out she had cancer and used that against her. She was emotionally strong, and I am proud of her ability to win that election.
My paternal grandmother, Jessie Connick, died in 1985, several years after my mom. She was a great cook and had eight kids during the Depression. She was quiet, but maintained a deep Catholic faith.
My sister, Suzanna, is three-and-a-half years older than me. I was a pain in the rear-end growing up. She was studious and I was an attention-seeker. We are incredibly close now. She spent 38 years in the military. She's a hero and I look up to her.
I would notice girls at school, but they didn't notice me. I had a crush on a girl in the sixth grade; she was sweet and smart. I couldn't work up the courage to tell her. I saw her in New Orleans 20 years ago; I recognised her face, and got the courage to tell her I had the biggest crush on her as a child. She replied, 'I had the biggest crush on you, too.'
My mother was aware I loved music from the age of three. I played the piano for the first time when my dad, Harry, was running for political office. He opened his campaign quarters and Mom got a piano in there for me to play.
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The Advertiser
3 hours ago
- The Advertiser
Vale Audrey Nash: family, friends and survivors pack cathedral for farewell
AUDREY Nash has sung a final rendition of her favourite Patsy Cline song for a fittingly appreciative crowd. The audience, dressed in her favourite colour blue, was gathered at Hamilton's Sacred Heart Cathedral for a stripped-back Catholic funeral. The audio, recorded nine years ago at Audrey's 90th birthday celebration, was played during a slideshow of Audrey's life in pictures. "I didn't know how I would go," she could be heard saying at the end of the song, Crazy. "But I wasn't too bad." Audrey Patricia Nash was 99 years old when she died on June 22. Her surviving children, Patricia Falk, Carmel O'Reagan, Geoffrey Nash and Bernadette Nash shared the eulogy along with her daughter-in-law Catherine Riedel, and two of her grandchildren, Mary-Kate O'Reagan and Andrew Nash. Through them, many aspects of Audrey's life were shared, from the way she would vacuum with rollers in and scuffs on while belting out tunes - loudly - to tributes to the more public aspects of her life and her fight for truth and justice for her son, Andrew Nash. As the dutiful daughter, Bernadette said, she always carried a Patsy Cline CD in her handbag given her mother's penchant for belting out a tune when the opportunity arose, or could be created, and the mood could strike her at any time. People would stop what they were doing to listen when she picked up the microphone, Bernadette said, including the one time she brought a local darts game to a dead stop for the first time in history. There was a nod to the many people in the room who Audrey knew would not be comfortable standing in a church. "I'm not too happy about being in the building myself," said Geoffrey Nash from the pulpit. But Audrey kept her faith until the end and it was always her wish to have her funeral at the Sacred Heart, he said, spoken by the priest of her choosing, Father Geoff Mulhearn. "She was here in 1930 when this church opened and she is here today for her final visit," Mr Nash said. "Audrey told me to tell you that if it gets too much being in here, take a break outside. She understands and sends her love to all the survivors that are here today." There were flowers and pictures placed on the ninth pew on the left hand side of the church, which had been Audrey's seat for many decades. Geoffrey and his little brother Andrew had been altar boys at the Sacred Heart in the late 1960s and early 1970s, which made Audrey proud and happy. "We were lucky the parish priests at the time were not paedophiles," Mr Nash said. They were not so lucky when they went to high school at Marist Brothers Hamilton. "Audrey sent her two boys to that hell hole," Mr Nash said. "Only one made it out alive." It was one of many references to the tragic death of Andrew Nash, who took his own life as a 13-year-old boy in 1974 after suffering abuse at the hands of Catholic clergy. Many years later, at the age of 86, Audrey started to work tirelessly with survivors, detectives, lawyers, and journalists, attending trials, meetings and conferences, and making a massive contribution to the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse. She also contributed to Suzanne Smith's book Altar Boys, and in her 90s she had a major role in the award-winning Netflix documentary series Revelation by Sarah Ferguson and Nial Fulton. In it Father Bill Burston made comments about Andrew, and Audrey had never forgotten or forgiven him, Mr Nash said. "Bill, if you are listening - neither have I." Last year, aged 98, she was still fighting. She attended several meetings with the Maitland-Newcastle Catholic Diocese and Bishop Michael Kennedy about a memorial for the lost children of the Diocese. She would have loved to have seen that before she passed, Mr Nash said. Audrey's eldest grandchild, Andrew Nash, said he was honoured to share the same name as his late Uncle. His grandmother had become an unlikely hero and a symbol for standing up against the enduring silence and inaction on institutional child sexual abuse committed by the Catholic church, Andrew said. "Seeing my grandmother and dad walking out of Royal Commission hearings in Sydney with arms linked filled me with pride and admiration," he said. "Grandma was steadfast and defiant, this was epitomised by her bravery to speak out against the Catholic church, and now her legacy as an advocate that will have a lasting effect long after her passing." Her house at Eva Street in Hamilton always felt like a welcoming hub for gatherings and parties that a nicer, larger home just could not accommodate, Andrew said. "With its creaky gate, back verandah clad with green fibreglass sheets, and a corner of the dining room you can't step on as you might go through the floor - Eva Street still always felt like a special place." He had fond memories of sunny, weekend mornings watching his grandmother in the dining room ironing the church linens for the Sacred Heart while she listened to Patsy Cline and other favourites on the stereo. "Despite everything that had happened over the years, at Grandma's house there was always a feeling of normalcy and consistency that was comforting, and her home invoked this same feeling in all of her grandchildren," Andrew said. Others remember the house with equal fondness, including survivor Stephen Murray who was the only person Audrey spoke to about her son, Andrew, for many years. During young Andrew's lifetime, the house was always full of noise and activity and he was always welcomed there and felt a part of the family, Mr Murray said. "If it wasn't for Audrey and her family, I'd be dead." Audrey was dobbed in by her family for being a tragic fan of TV soap opera The Bold and the Beautiful, from which granddaughter Mary-Kate said she learned many important life lessons. "Like that it's possible to marry the same man 12 times and to never stand on a balcony during a disagreement," she said. Audrey also loved British crime shows, Carmel said. "You may be surprised to hear that Mum graciously accepted acknowledgment of the annual best rose garden awarded through the Matara competition in the 1980s," Carmel said. "This happened mainly at bowls where she was humbled to be offered and accepted congratulations. Unfortunately, the Audrey and Bert Nash that won lived in Mayfield and had no connection to the poor gardening skills of our Aud." There were also many references to a beverage that Audrey was quite partial to. A few weeks ago, she sat enjoying a glass of chardonnay at home while listening to Frank Sinatra. "You know what they say," Audrey said. "There are only two types of chardonnay - good, and very good." AUDREY Nash has sung a final rendition of her favourite Patsy Cline song for a fittingly appreciative crowd. The audience, dressed in her favourite colour blue, was gathered at Hamilton's Sacred Heart Cathedral for a stripped-back Catholic funeral. The audio, recorded nine years ago at Audrey's 90th birthday celebration, was played during a slideshow of Audrey's life in pictures. "I didn't know how I would go," she could be heard saying at the end of the song, Crazy. "But I wasn't too bad." Audrey Patricia Nash was 99 years old when she died on June 22. Her surviving children, Patricia Falk, Carmel O'Reagan, Geoffrey Nash and Bernadette Nash shared the eulogy along with her daughter-in-law Catherine Riedel, and two of her grandchildren, Mary-Kate O'Reagan and Andrew Nash. Through them, many aspects of Audrey's life were shared, from the way she would vacuum with rollers in and scuffs on while belting out tunes - loudly - to tributes to the more public aspects of her life and her fight for truth and justice for her son, Andrew Nash. As the dutiful daughter, Bernadette said, she always carried a Patsy Cline CD in her handbag given her mother's penchant for belting out a tune when the opportunity arose, or could be created, and the mood could strike her at any time. People would stop what they were doing to listen when she picked up the microphone, Bernadette said, including the one time she brought a local darts game to a dead stop for the first time in history. There was a nod to the many people in the room who Audrey knew would not be comfortable standing in a church. "I'm not too happy about being in the building myself," said Geoffrey Nash from the pulpit. But Audrey kept her faith until the end and it was always her wish to have her funeral at the Sacred Heart, he said, spoken by the priest of her choosing, Father Geoff Mulhearn. "She was here in 1930 when this church opened and she is here today for her final visit," Mr Nash said. "Audrey told me to tell you that if it gets too much being in here, take a break outside. She understands and sends her love to all the survivors that are here today." There were flowers and pictures placed on the ninth pew on the left hand side of the church, which had been Audrey's seat for many decades. Geoffrey and his little brother Andrew had been altar boys at the Sacred Heart in the late 1960s and early 1970s, which made Audrey proud and happy. "We were lucky the parish priests at the time were not paedophiles," Mr Nash said. They were not so lucky when they went to high school at Marist Brothers Hamilton. "Audrey sent her two boys to that hell hole," Mr Nash said. "Only one made it out alive." It was one of many references to the tragic death of Andrew Nash, who took his own life as a 13-year-old boy in 1974 after suffering abuse at the hands of Catholic clergy. Many years later, at the age of 86, Audrey started to work tirelessly with survivors, detectives, lawyers, and journalists, attending trials, meetings and conferences, and making a massive contribution to the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse. She also contributed to Suzanne Smith's book Altar Boys, and in her 90s she had a major role in the award-winning Netflix documentary series Revelation by Sarah Ferguson and Nial Fulton. In it Father Bill Burston made comments about Andrew, and Audrey had never forgotten or forgiven him, Mr Nash said. "Bill, if you are listening - neither have I." Last year, aged 98, she was still fighting. She attended several meetings with the Maitland-Newcastle Catholic Diocese and Bishop Michael Kennedy about a memorial for the lost children of the Diocese. She would have loved to have seen that before she passed, Mr Nash said. Audrey's eldest grandchild, Andrew Nash, said he was honoured to share the same name as his late Uncle. His grandmother had become an unlikely hero and a symbol for standing up against the enduring silence and inaction on institutional child sexual abuse committed by the Catholic church, Andrew said. "Seeing my grandmother and dad walking out of Royal Commission hearings in Sydney with arms linked filled me with pride and admiration," he said. "Grandma was steadfast and defiant, this was epitomised by her bravery to speak out against the Catholic church, and now her legacy as an advocate that will have a lasting effect long after her passing." Her house at Eva Street in Hamilton always felt like a welcoming hub for gatherings and parties that a nicer, larger home just could not accommodate, Andrew said. "With its creaky gate, back verandah clad with green fibreglass sheets, and a corner of the dining room you can't step on as you might go through the floor - Eva Street still always felt like a special place." He had fond memories of sunny, weekend mornings watching his grandmother in the dining room ironing the church linens for the Sacred Heart while she listened to Patsy Cline and other favourites on the stereo. "Despite everything that had happened over the years, at Grandma's house there was always a feeling of normalcy and consistency that was comforting, and her home invoked this same feeling in all of her grandchildren," Andrew said. Others remember the house with equal fondness, including survivor Stephen Murray who was the only person Audrey spoke to about her son, Andrew, for many years. During young Andrew's lifetime, the house was always full of noise and activity and he was always welcomed there and felt a part of the family, Mr Murray said. "If it wasn't for Audrey and her family, I'd be dead." Audrey was dobbed in by her family for being a tragic fan of TV soap opera The Bold and the Beautiful, from which granddaughter Mary-Kate said she learned many important life lessons. "Like that it's possible to marry the same man 12 times and to never stand on a balcony during a disagreement," she said. Audrey also loved British crime shows, Carmel said. "You may be surprised to hear that Mum graciously accepted acknowledgment of the annual best rose garden awarded through the Matara competition in the 1980s," Carmel said. "This happened mainly at bowls where she was humbled to be offered and accepted congratulations. Unfortunately, the Audrey and Bert Nash that won lived in Mayfield and had no connection to the poor gardening skills of our Aud." There were also many references to a beverage that Audrey was quite partial to. A few weeks ago, she sat enjoying a glass of chardonnay at home while listening to Frank Sinatra. "You know what they say," Audrey said. "There are only two types of chardonnay - good, and very good." AUDREY Nash has sung a final rendition of her favourite Patsy Cline song for a fittingly appreciative crowd. The audience, dressed in her favourite colour blue, was gathered at Hamilton's Sacred Heart Cathedral for a stripped-back Catholic funeral. The audio, recorded nine years ago at Audrey's 90th birthday celebration, was played during a slideshow of Audrey's life in pictures. "I didn't know how I would go," she could be heard saying at the end of the song, Crazy. "But I wasn't too bad." Audrey Patricia Nash was 99 years old when she died on June 22. Her surviving children, Patricia Falk, Carmel O'Reagan, Geoffrey Nash and Bernadette Nash shared the eulogy along with her daughter-in-law Catherine Riedel, and two of her grandchildren, Mary-Kate O'Reagan and Andrew Nash. Through them, many aspects of Audrey's life were shared, from the way she would vacuum with rollers in and scuffs on while belting out tunes - loudly - to tributes to the more public aspects of her life and her fight for truth and justice for her son, Andrew Nash. As the dutiful daughter, Bernadette said, she always carried a Patsy Cline CD in her handbag given her mother's penchant for belting out a tune when the opportunity arose, or could be created, and the mood could strike her at any time. People would stop what they were doing to listen when she picked up the microphone, Bernadette said, including the one time she brought a local darts game to a dead stop for the first time in history. There was a nod to the many people in the room who Audrey knew would not be comfortable standing in a church. "I'm not too happy about being in the building myself," said Geoffrey Nash from the pulpit. But Audrey kept her faith until the end and it was always her wish to have her funeral at the Sacred Heart, he said, spoken by the priest of her choosing, Father Geoff Mulhearn. "She was here in 1930 when this church opened and she is here today for her final visit," Mr Nash said. "Audrey told me to tell you that if it gets too much being in here, take a break outside. She understands and sends her love to all the survivors that are here today." There were flowers and pictures placed on the ninth pew on the left hand side of the church, which had been Audrey's seat for many decades. Geoffrey and his little brother Andrew had been altar boys at the Sacred Heart in the late 1960s and early 1970s, which made Audrey proud and happy. "We were lucky the parish priests at the time were not paedophiles," Mr Nash said. They were not so lucky when they went to high school at Marist Brothers Hamilton. "Audrey sent her two boys to that hell hole," Mr Nash said. "Only one made it out alive." It was one of many references to the tragic death of Andrew Nash, who took his own life as a 13-year-old boy in 1974 after suffering abuse at the hands of Catholic clergy. Many years later, at the age of 86, Audrey started to work tirelessly with survivors, detectives, lawyers, and journalists, attending trials, meetings and conferences, and making a massive contribution to the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse. She also contributed to Suzanne Smith's book Altar Boys, and in her 90s she had a major role in the award-winning Netflix documentary series Revelation by Sarah Ferguson and Nial Fulton. In it Father Bill Burston made comments about Andrew, and Audrey had never forgotten or forgiven him, Mr Nash said. "Bill, if you are listening - neither have I." Last year, aged 98, she was still fighting. She attended several meetings with the Maitland-Newcastle Catholic Diocese and Bishop Michael Kennedy about a memorial for the lost children of the Diocese. She would have loved to have seen that before she passed, Mr Nash said. Audrey's eldest grandchild, Andrew Nash, said he was honoured to share the same name as his late Uncle. His grandmother had become an unlikely hero and a symbol for standing up against the enduring silence and inaction on institutional child sexual abuse committed by the Catholic church, Andrew said. "Seeing my grandmother and dad walking out of Royal Commission hearings in Sydney with arms linked filled me with pride and admiration," he said. "Grandma was steadfast and defiant, this was epitomised by her bravery to speak out against the Catholic church, and now her legacy as an advocate that will have a lasting effect long after her passing." Her house at Eva Street in Hamilton always felt like a welcoming hub for gatherings and parties that a nicer, larger home just could not accommodate, Andrew said. "With its creaky gate, back verandah clad with green fibreglass sheets, and a corner of the dining room you can't step on as you might go through the floor - Eva Street still always felt like a special place." He had fond memories of sunny, weekend mornings watching his grandmother in the dining room ironing the church linens for the Sacred Heart while she listened to Patsy Cline and other favourites on the stereo. "Despite everything that had happened over the years, at Grandma's house there was always a feeling of normalcy and consistency that was comforting, and her home invoked this same feeling in all of her grandchildren," Andrew said. Others remember the house with equal fondness, including survivor Stephen Murray who was the only person Audrey spoke to about her son, Andrew, for many years. During young Andrew's lifetime, the house was always full of noise and activity and he was always welcomed there and felt a part of the family, Mr Murray said. "If it wasn't for Audrey and her family, I'd be dead." Audrey was dobbed in by her family for being a tragic fan of TV soap opera The Bold and the Beautiful, from which granddaughter Mary-Kate said she learned many important life lessons. "Like that it's possible to marry the same man 12 times and to never stand on a balcony during a disagreement," she said. Audrey also loved British crime shows, Carmel said. "You may be surprised to hear that Mum graciously accepted acknowledgment of the annual best rose garden awarded through the Matara competition in the 1980s," Carmel said. "This happened mainly at bowls where she was humbled to be offered and accepted congratulations. Unfortunately, the Audrey and Bert Nash that won lived in Mayfield and had no connection to the poor gardening skills of our Aud." There were also many references to a beverage that Audrey was quite partial to. A few weeks ago, she sat enjoying a glass of chardonnay at home while listening to Frank Sinatra. "You know what they say," Audrey said. "There are only two types of chardonnay - good, and very good." AUDREY Nash has sung a final rendition of her favourite Patsy Cline song for a fittingly appreciative crowd. The audience, dressed in her favourite colour blue, was gathered at Hamilton's Sacred Heart Cathedral for a stripped-back Catholic funeral. The audio, recorded nine years ago at Audrey's 90th birthday celebration, was played during a slideshow of Audrey's life in pictures. "I didn't know how I would go," she could be heard saying at the end of the song, Crazy. "But I wasn't too bad." Audrey Patricia Nash was 99 years old when she died on June 22. Her surviving children, Patricia Falk, Carmel O'Reagan, Geoffrey Nash and Bernadette Nash shared the eulogy along with her daughter-in-law Catherine Riedel, and two of her grandchildren, Mary-Kate O'Reagan and Andrew Nash. Through them, many aspects of Audrey's life were shared, from the way she would vacuum with rollers in and scuffs on while belting out tunes - loudly - to tributes to the more public aspects of her life and her fight for truth and justice for her son, Andrew Nash. As the dutiful daughter, Bernadette said, she always carried a Patsy Cline CD in her handbag given her mother's penchant for belting out a tune when the opportunity arose, or could be created, and the mood could strike her at any time. People would stop what they were doing to listen when she picked up the microphone, Bernadette said, including the one time she brought a local darts game to a dead stop for the first time in history. There was a nod to the many people in the room who Audrey knew would not be comfortable standing in a church. "I'm not too happy about being in the building myself," said Geoffrey Nash from the pulpit. But Audrey kept her faith until the end and it was always her wish to have her funeral at the Sacred Heart, he said, spoken by the priest of her choosing, Father Geoff Mulhearn. "She was here in 1930 when this church opened and she is here today for her final visit," Mr Nash said. "Audrey told me to tell you that if it gets too much being in here, take a break outside. She understands and sends her love to all the survivors that are here today." There were flowers and pictures placed on the ninth pew on the left hand side of the church, which had been Audrey's seat for many decades. Geoffrey and his little brother Andrew had been altar boys at the Sacred Heart in the late 1960s and early 1970s, which made Audrey proud and happy. "We were lucky the parish priests at the time were not paedophiles," Mr Nash said. They were not so lucky when they went to high school at Marist Brothers Hamilton. "Audrey sent her two boys to that hell hole," Mr Nash said. "Only one made it out alive." It was one of many references to the tragic death of Andrew Nash, who took his own life as a 13-year-old boy in 1974 after suffering abuse at the hands of Catholic clergy. Many years later, at the age of 86, Audrey started to work tirelessly with survivors, detectives, lawyers, and journalists, attending trials, meetings and conferences, and making a massive contribution to the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse. She also contributed to Suzanne Smith's book Altar Boys, and in her 90s she had a major role in the award-winning Netflix documentary series Revelation by Sarah Ferguson and Nial Fulton. In it Father Bill Burston made comments about Andrew, and Audrey had never forgotten or forgiven him, Mr Nash said. "Bill, if you are listening - neither have I." Last year, aged 98, she was still fighting. She attended several meetings with the Maitland-Newcastle Catholic Diocese and Bishop Michael Kennedy about a memorial for the lost children of the Diocese. She would have loved to have seen that before she passed, Mr Nash said. Audrey's eldest grandchild, Andrew Nash, said he was honoured to share the same name as his late Uncle. His grandmother had become an unlikely hero and a symbol for standing up against the enduring silence and inaction on institutional child sexual abuse committed by the Catholic church, Andrew said. "Seeing my grandmother and dad walking out of Royal Commission hearings in Sydney with arms linked filled me with pride and admiration," he said. "Grandma was steadfast and defiant, this was epitomised by her bravery to speak out against the Catholic church, and now her legacy as an advocate that will have a lasting effect long after her passing." Her house at Eva Street in Hamilton always felt like a welcoming hub for gatherings and parties that a nicer, larger home just could not accommodate, Andrew said. "With its creaky gate, back verandah clad with green fibreglass sheets, and a corner of the dining room you can't step on as you might go through the floor - Eva Street still always felt like a special place." He had fond memories of sunny, weekend mornings watching his grandmother in the dining room ironing the church linens for the Sacred Heart while she listened to Patsy Cline and other favourites on the stereo. "Despite everything that had happened over the years, at Grandma's house there was always a feeling of normalcy and consistency that was comforting, and her home invoked this same feeling in all of her grandchildren," Andrew said. Others remember the house with equal fondness, including survivor Stephen Murray who was the only person Audrey spoke to about her son, Andrew, for many years. During young Andrew's lifetime, the house was always full of noise and activity and he was always welcomed there and felt a part of the family, Mr Murray said. "If it wasn't for Audrey and her family, I'd be dead." Audrey was dobbed in by her family for being a tragic fan of TV soap opera The Bold and the Beautiful, from which granddaughter Mary-Kate said she learned many important life lessons. "Like that it's possible to marry the same man 12 times and to never stand on a balcony during a disagreement," she said. Audrey also loved British crime shows, Carmel said. "You may be surprised to hear that Mum graciously accepted acknowledgment of the annual best rose garden awarded through the Matara competition in the 1980s," Carmel said. "This happened mainly at bowls where she was humbled to be offered and accepted congratulations. Unfortunately, the Audrey and Bert Nash that won lived in Mayfield and had no connection to the poor gardening skills of our Aud." There were also many references to a beverage that Audrey was quite partial to. A few weeks ago, she sat enjoying a glass of chardonnay at home while listening to Frank Sinatra. "You know what they say," Audrey said. "There are only two types of chardonnay - good, and very good."
Sydney Morning Herald
a day ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
How ‘Gen Z's Mozart' almost dismissed Herbie Hancock's email as a joke
Understandably, Jacob Collier suspected one of his mates was pulling a prank. In 2013, when Collier was just 19, he uploaded a video to YouTube: a cover of Stevie Wonder's Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing, which he recorded at his family's home in London. Within a couple of days, it notched up more than 100,000 views, so he made it available for purchase online. Soon after, Collier – who will embark on his first arena tour of Australia in December – received an email informing him that Herbie Hancock had bought five of his recordings. Then came a message purporting to be from the jazz legend himself: 'Wow, Jacob! Your stuff is amazing. Please keep expanding in your life, as well as your music. I believe that craft may be about melody, rhythm, harmony, the notes etc but music is about life. -Herbie Hancock.' 'My first instinct was, 'Which one of my homies is trying to pull the wool over my eyes?'' says Collier, gazing at the Melbourne skyline from a top-floor suite, complete with a grand piano, in the Park Hyatt hotel. 'I just thought, 'This is insane!' But it really was Herbie.' This was followed by another pinch-me moment when his video came to the attention of Quincy Jones, one of the world's most acclaimed music producers. 'Quincy just lost his mind,' recalled Adam Fell, the president of Jones' production company. 'He said, 'I don't care what you're doing right now, I don't care how busy you are – find this kid'.' Jones was so taken with Collier's version of Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing that he would play it, alongside Wonder's original recording, to whomever he was meeting. 'It didn't matter if it was Paul McCartney or Queen Rania,' Fell told the BBC. 'Quincy would show them that video and say, 'I've never seen anything like this! Have you?'' Loading Famously, when Jones tried to sign Collier, the young singer and his mother suggested they and Jones first get to know each other as friends. 'As a child, I created so much music in the solitary cocoon of my family's music room,' explains Collier, who is dressed in a typically flamboyant ensemble of yellow Crocs, red pants and multicoloured parachute jacket. 'I didn't have a team at the time; it was just me and my mum, and I wasn't sure what it would feel like to work with other people. The fact that Quincy and I built our working relationship on a foundation of friendship and human connection was so valuable.' When we meet, Collier, 30, is fresh from performing as a headline act in the Adelaide Cabaret Festival. He looks as though he's in his early 20s, yet he has the vocabulary and impeccable manners of a middle-aged English gentleman. Over the past dozen years, his work has racked up hundreds of millions of streams across TikTok, YouTube and Spotify. He's collaborated with everyone from Joni Mitchell and Coldplay to Alicia Keys, David Crosby and the rapper Stormzy. And he has already won seven Grammy Awards, making him the only British artist to claim at least one Grammy for each of his first five studio albums. It's little wonder he's been labelled a 'genius', a 'jazz messiah' and the 'Mozart of Gen Z' by critics. 'Whatever he does blows my mind.' 'He's so in demand,' said Coldplay's Chris Martin, who is now a friend of the Collier family. 'We all recognised, 'Oh, this guy can make us sound better'.' Jones, who died last year, declared that 'whatever he does blows my mind'. Film composer Hans Zimmer raved that much of Collier's work 'is on the edge of the impossible', while Hancock went as far as to rank Collier's harmonic talents above his own. 'I thought I was good with harmonies,' he said, 'but he was all over my stuff – and past that.' But what is it that makes Collier's music so special? As Jones once explained, Western music has used the same 12 notes of the chromatic scale for several hundred years. But Collier likes to operate in the spaces in between, with an array of 'micro-notes' and 'quarter tones' that, incredibly, he can distinguish by ear. He also plays dozens of instruments. His cover of Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing, made entirely by himself, is a good example. On that track alone, he plays the guitar, mandolin, double bass, keyboard, piano, djembe drums, box drums, cowbell, egg shakers and a tambourine; he also recorded several different vocal elements – some of which sound peculiar in isolation – before stitching them together to form a beautifully layered whole. (His videos frequently use a split screen format to showcase each aspect.) 'I'd stay up until the early hours of the morning after spending a whole day at school,' Collier says. 'I was doing things harmonically and rhythmically that I'd never heard before. It was such an exciting time; I felt like I was building my own little cathedral out of matchsticks.' When Collier was a toddler, his mother, Suzie – an acclaimed violinist, conductor and professor – noticed how he'd tune in to the hum of the vacuum cleaner. Heeding the advice of her late father, Derek (a violinist himself, and a former leader of the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra), she sang to her son from birth and encouraged him to explore the sounds around him. 'A car alarm would go off and she'd say, 'Oh, look at this! That's an E major chord',' he says. 'When you're a child, your imagination is as important as the real world, if not more so, and she was able to show me this world of sound that really lit me up.' When Collier brings his Djesse World Tour to Australia in December ('Djesse' being a play on his initials, JC), he'll be supported by local musician Nai Palm. As in many of his previous performances, he will play choirmaster, inviting every member of the audience to get involved. 'It's a multi-genre show,' he explains. 'It has some structured elements but also some chaotic elements. There'll be some acoustic moments and some very dance, jazz, folk, electronic and rock 'n' roll moments. I love being in an operation that's very defined and rhythmic, but I also love that feeling of not knowing what's going to happen next.' TAKE 7: THE ANSWERS ACCORDING TO JACOB COLLIER Worst habit? Going to bed at 7am and waking up at 2pm. My sleep schedule is completely upside down. Greatest fear? My own apathy. I worry about numbing out to the world in a time of so much change. The line that stayed with you? Quincy Jones used to say, 'Don't try to be cool – be warm.' Biggest regret? The sacrifices made by the people I love most, to allow me to do what I do. I'm very, very grateful to them. Favourite book? Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. The artwork/song you wish was yours? September by Earth, Wind & Fire. Can you imagine having written that song? We blast it after every show so that everyone leaves on a high. If you could time travel, where would you choose to go? To an Earth, Wind & Fire concert in the 1970s. During his first tour of Australia in 2018, Collier used a video looping system and specially made harmoniser to perform a one-man concert. 'I was using all sorts of gizmos back then, but I've since traded a lot of those gadgets for people, which has been of great benefit to me,' he says. 'When I was a solo performer, I fell in love with the idea that, in the absence of bandmates, the audience becomes the band – and that's still an important part of the show because I love that communal feeling.' He doesn't hesitate when asked to name his biggest musical hero. 'My mum is number one, obviously,' he says. 'Of all the things I've done as a musician – starting with those multiscreen videos, then making albums and travelling all over the world – she's always lent her expertise and wisdom in a really lovely way. She even conducted the orchestra on my last album, Djesse Vol. 4. It was an amazing, full-circle moment to take the DNA of what I learned as a child and fold it into what I'm doing now.'
The Age
a day ago
- The Age
How ‘Gen Z's Mozart' almost dismissed Herbie Hancock's email as a joke
Understandably, Jacob Collier suspected one of his mates was pulling a prank. In 2013, when Collier was just 19, he uploaded a video to YouTube: a cover of Stevie Wonder's Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing, which he recorded at his family's home in London. Within a couple of days, it notched up more than 100,000 views, so he made it available for purchase online. Soon after, Collier – who will embark on his first arena tour of Australia in December – received an email informing him that Herbie Hancock had bought five of his recordings. Then came a message purporting to be from the jazz legend himself: 'Wow, Jacob! Your stuff is amazing. Please keep expanding in your life, as well as your music. I believe that craft may be about melody, rhythm, harmony, the notes etc but music is about life. -Herbie Hancock.' 'My first instinct was, 'Which one of my homies is trying to pull the wool over my eyes?'' says Collier, gazing at the Melbourne skyline from a top-floor suite, complete with a grand piano, in the Park Hyatt hotel. 'I just thought, 'This is insane!' But it really was Herbie.' This was followed by another pinch-me moment when his video came to the attention of Quincy Jones, one of the world's most acclaimed music producers. 'Quincy just lost his mind,' recalled Adam Fell, the president of Jones' production company. 'He said, 'I don't care what you're doing right now, I don't care how busy you are – find this kid'.' Jones was so taken with Collier's version of Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing that he would play it, alongside Wonder's original recording, to whomever he was meeting. 'It didn't matter if it was Paul McCartney or Queen Rania,' Fell told the BBC. 'Quincy would show them that video and say, 'I've never seen anything like this! Have you?'' Loading Famously, when Jones tried to sign Collier, the young singer and his mother suggested they and Jones first get to know each other as friends. 'As a child, I created so much music in the solitary cocoon of my family's music room,' explains Collier, who is dressed in a typically flamboyant ensemble of yellow Crocs, red pants and multicoloured parachute jacket. 'I didn't have a team at the time; it was just me and my mum, and I wasn't sure what it would feel like to work with other people. The fact that Quincy and I built our working relationship on a foundation of friendship and human connection was so valuable.' When we meet, Collier, 30, is fresh from performing as a headline act in the Adelaide Cabaret Festival. He looks as though he's in his early 20s, yet he has the vocabulary and impeccable manners of a middle-aged English gentleman. Over the past dozen years, his work has racked up hundreds of millions of streams across TikTok, YouTube and Spotify. He's collaborated with everyone from Joni Mitchell and Coldplay to Alicia Keys, David Crosby and the rapper Stormzy. And he has already won seven Grammy Awards, making him the only British artist to claim at least one Grammy for each of his first five studio albums. It's little wonder he's been labelled a 'genius', a 'jazz messiah' and the 'Mozart of Gen Z' by critics. 'Whatever he does blows my mind.' 'He's so in demand,' said Coldplay's Chris Martin, who is now a friend of the Collier family. 'We all recognised, 'Oh, this guy can make us sound better'.' Jones, who died last year, declared that 'whatever he does blows my mind'. Film composer Hans Zimmer raved that much of Collier's work 'is on the edge of the impossible', while Hancock went as far as to rank Collier's harmonic talents above his own. 'I thought I was good with harmonies,' he said, 'but he was all over my stuff – and past that.' But what is it that makes Collier's music so special? As Jones once explained, Western music has used the same 12 notes of the chromatic scale for several hundred years. But Collier likes to operate in the spaces in between, with an array of 'micro-notes' and 'quarter tones' that, incredibly, he can distinguish by ear. He also plays dozens of instruments. His cover of Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing, made entirely by himself, is a good example. On that track alone, he plays the guitar, mandolin, double bass, keyboard, piano, djembe drums, box drums, cowbell, egg shakers and a tambourine; he also recorded several different vocal elements – some of which sound peculiar in isolation – before stitching them together to form a beautifully layered whole. (His videos frequently use a split screen format to showcase each aspect.) 'I'd stay up until the early hours of the morning after spending a whole day at school,' Collier says. 'I was doing things harmonically and rhythmically that I'd never heard before. It was such an exciting time; I felt like I was building my own little cathedral out of matchsticks.' When Collier was a toddler, his mother, Suzie – an acclaimed violinist, conductor and professor – noticed how he'd tune in to the hum of the vacuum cleaner. Heeding the advice of her late father, Derek (a violinist himself, and a former leader of the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra), she sang to her son from birth and encouraged him to explore the sounds around him. 'A car alarm would go off and she'd say, 'Oh, look at this! That's an E major chord',' he says. 'When you're a child, your imagination is as important as the real world, if not more so, and she was able to show me this world of sound that really lit me up.' When Collier brings his Djesse World Tour to Australia in December ('Djesse' being a play on his initials, JC), he'll be supported by local musician Nai Palm. As in many of his previous performances, he will play choirmaster, inviting every member of the audience to get involved. 'It's a multi-genre show,' he explains. 'It has some structured elements but also some chaotic elements. There'll be some acoustic moments and some very dance, jazz, folk, electronic and rock 'n' roll moments. I love being in an operation that's very defined and rhythmic, but I also love that feeling of not knowing what's going to happen next.' TAKE 7: THE ANSWERS ACCORDING TO JACOB COLLIER Worst habit? Going to bed at 7am and waking up at 2pm. My sleep schedule is completely upside down. Greatest fear? My own apathy. I worry about numbing out to the world in a time of so much change. The line that stayed with you? Quincy Jones used to say, 'Don't try to be cool – be warm.' Biggest regret? The sacrifices made by the people I love most, to allow me to do what I do. I'm very, very grateful to them. Favourite book? Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. The artwork/song you wish was yours? September by Earth, Wind & Fire. Can you imagine having written that song? We blast it after every show so that everyone leaves on a high. If you could time travel, where would you choose to go? To an Earth, Wind & Fire concert in the 1970s. During his first tour of Australia in 2018, Collier used a video looping system and specially made harmoniser to perform a one-man concert. 'I was using all sorts of gizmos back then, but I've since traded a lot of those gadgets for people, which has been of great benefit to me,' he says. 'When I was a solo performer, I fell in love with the idea that, in the absence of bandmates, the audience becomes the band – and that's still an important part of the show because I love that communal feeling.' He doesn't hesitate when asked to name his biggest musical hero. 'My mum is number one, obviously,' he says. 'Of all the things I've done as a musician – starting with those multiscreen videos, then making albums and travelling all over the world – she's always lent her expertise and wisdom in a really lovely way. She even conducted the orchestra on my last album, Djesse Vol. 4. It was an amazing, full-circle moment to take the DNA of what I learned as a child and fold it into what I'm doing now.'
