Have you ever watched smoke as it just floats off into the air? If you look closer, there’s a certain duality that arises in the mind.

On a large scale, say when a building or object is caught on fire, smoke ushers a sense of danger within those who are around. However, on a much smaller scale, say when one burns a stick of incense, a sense of calm and clarity begins to fill the room. Of course, smoke also produces both detrimental and transcendental qualities when smoked — a divisive sentiment that is ever-present in pop culture.

Throughout the history of art and religion, the evanescence of smoke has been used as a common metaphor for life and death. From the Vikings and Hindu’s who cremated their kin as a preparation for the afterlife, to various Native American and aboriginal tribes who held their newborns over smoke as a way to seal their spirit. Look at more recent times, smoke has represented the modernity of the industrial revolution, along with the pollution that is caused as a byproduct.

Somewhere in between all these extremes lies a sense of mystery. So does the music of Henry Wu, also known by his Islamic name, Kamaal Williams. Growing up, the South London native was exposed to the turbulence and creativity that manifests in Peckham. Born to a British father and a Chinese mother, Wu caught on early to the likes of Marvin Gaye and Roy Ayers and would turn to drumming, then eventually the keys to chase his own mark in music.

Like many British youth, he became an avid football fan, supporting the Gianfranco Zola-led Chelsea of the late-90s, along with listening to the burgeoning UK garage and grime scene developing across the country. Observing his music videos, film also became a central force that shaped his music, with Quentin Tarantino, Akira Kurosawa and Hong Kong cinema leading the list.

Jazz is the easiest genre to describe Wu’s sound, but he tries to avoid that term altogether. “I try not to call it Jazz too much, because I think that represented a certain era, like Miles Davis for example,” he told HYPEBEAST. “It comes from London,” he added. Caught between the percussive build-ups and the ethereal releases, one can’t help but hear traces of John Coltrane and Art Blakey, Lonnie Liston Smith and Idris Muhammad, to Hiroshi Suzuki, Wiley, Dizzee Rascal and a host of others.

When playing under his birth name, Wu brings out an eclectic range of house and techno that juxtaposes the spiritual sounds that he reverts to when performing under the Kamaal guise. Perhaps that’s a reflection of the man and his faith. Whatever you choose to call it, both monikers bring a refreshing sound that feels entirely new, entirely present.

Arguably his greatest record was a collaboration with fellow London-native, Yussef Dayes whose surgical ability on the drums led to the masterclass known as Yussef Kamaal. Just as the two experienced a meteoric reception from the album, they split for reasons that Wu simply states is “very common.” Looking more into it and there must have been some divisions that galvanized Wu to throw all his focus into his own solo record, The Return.

More than just an incredible musician himself, one of Wu’s greatest strengths is his ability to unearth talent and further develop their sound for the global airwaves. During 2020, a year in which the world was metaphorically caught in a cloud of smoke and uncertainty, the artist chose to subvert the stigma attached to the Chinese city of Wuhan, by naming his follow-up album, Wu Hen. Emblematic of his music, the album featured the visceral sounds that have come to shape him, along with the melodic strings and harmonics of artists, such as Miguel Atwood-Ferguson and Lauren Faith.

I first saw Kamaal perform live back in 2019 at the Moroccan Lounge in Los Angeles — a gig that is said to have inspired his most recent album. After several years of hiatus, I recently caught up with the artist several days after his return to LA with a performance at The Lodge Room. As we walked through Chinatown, we spoke on faith, finding your own rhythm in a chaotic world and what’s next for the artist.

Read the full interview with Kamaal Williams below.

“You need to listen to Roy Ayers — that’s where all that shit is taken from.”

What were your earliest memories of music?

Earliest exposure was probably at school, around five or six years old. In terms of when I was first engaged in music, I started to play drums, percussion, when I was about eight to nine years old. Prior to that, I was always listening to music in my house. My mom and dad, especially dad, would play music in the car. So I used to hear Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On,” Steve Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life, before I was ten years old. I was hearing this stuff on repeat. Even things like Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck.

At school, I was learning percussion — the African percussion ensemble — which I grew up in Peckham and there was a big West African community. So had that going on and at school, it was hip-hop, grime and garage. Artful Dodger, Craig David, So Solid Crew, Wiley, Dizzee Rascal, Kanye West — all of this mixture from up until I was like 12.

Do you remember which musicians in particular galvanized you to want to become one?

My drum teacher. Much later on, I saw Roy Ayers and Don Blackman at Jazz Cafe, so they were big influences on me. I remember when I was at college, when I told one teacher I liked the band Jamiroquai, he’d be like, ‘no, you need to listen to Roy Ayers — that’s where all that shit is taken from.’

So I started getting really into discovering all the classic artists from the ‘60s and ‘70s — Herbie, Donald Byrd, etc.

Speaking of Roy Ayers, you recently worked with his daughter Lauren Faith on Wu Hen. How was that collaboration?

We’ve always been fans of each other’s music. She’s just an amazing singer, musician, multi-instrumentalist. I was just blown away when I met her — she came down to my studio and would play guitar, bass, keys, singing — it was crazy.

“I wasn’t really expecting anything, I just rolled with it.”

For those unfamiliar, how would you describe the culture of Peckham?

Peckham is an inner-city area in London. When I was growing up, it was very much the ghetto. But it’s a very flourishing area now. So for me personally, it’s changed in a good way. The culture and the music, however, has always come from the old school. It comes from the generation before it changed — like a Catch-22.

Can you take us back to when you first started recording music?

I started a band when I was about 17, that’s when I first started playing keys. We’d record little demos and at the time, my good friend, Katie B, she was a singer who got signed and we started touring. During that process, I was on logic producing my own tracks and sell lil’ demos and EPs. Eventually, I decided to release them with 22a records by my friend, Tenderlonious, who set up this label to put out his friend’s music. From there, it just snowballed — I released about seven, eight EPs — all kind of considered to be under the umbrella of house music.

I wasn’t really expecting anything, I just rolled with it. I was always making graffiti and music.

So you were making art at the same time?

I was making art at the same time, so for me, it’s connected. Graffiti didn’t feel like it had a future. Graffiti you can’t really take into an art gallery.

It’s funny how much that’s changed, though. Where the lines between traditional and street art have blurred so much. Taking it back into the early days of music, I read that your mom’s front room was the spot that the homies would come in to jam.

It’s actually my attic, so my mom’s crib, I had a little studio set up. All my homies would come through and all the early Henry Wu stuff was there. So that was a really fundamental place for me making music — a really comfortable vibe and both my friends who made music and those who didn’t just came to hang. So I was very blessed to have that space and later on I recorded The Return in my mom’s front room purely because at the time, seven days in the studio would cost a lot.

“Let me make a beautiful album and call it Wu Hen.”

What are the differences between Kamaal Williams and Henry Wu?

There’s no difference really other than the name. Kamaal’s my Muslim name and I used that name to represent that change in faith.

Can you talk on how you inject your ethnic background within your art?

My mom’s side of the family is Chinese and my dad’s British.

The artwork with Wu Hen, you know, was my Chinese name. That was just a straight homage to that. And obviously, at the time, the pandemic had just come on and a lot of people were talking about Wuhan. So I kind of said, why don’t we call it Wu Hen, seeing that there was so much heat on this. It’s almost like there was a negative stigma onto that name. Let me make a beautiful album and call it Wu Hen.

I was going to call it Wu Han. Me and my boy were in lockdown in Morocco and my boy was like…Wu Hen, you know what I mean hahah. I also thought, ok, it’s a different word and it’s own thing. When we took it to Kevin Kearney, who owns an art studio in New York, we had Othelo Gervavio who painted the cover of the album. I went to see it for the first time on the campus and he just loved the name Wu Hen, graphically.

He specializes in very detailed flowers. The way we broke the whole concept down was like, I took a selfie on my iPhone during the pandemic and it just felt at the time the world was up in smoke. But at the same time, I used to describe my music as very ethereal and graphically afflicted by clouds. So we imagined it being an immaterial being a spiritual form of music. Clouds was the way we wanted to represent it. If you look at it closely, it kind of looks like a flower, petals and so many different things.

Looking at the other albums, can you recount the concept behind the calligraphy?

Growing up as a graffiti artist, I felt like fusing that with typography as a mature later stage.

There was a particular calligrapher called Haji Noor Deen. He’s a Chinese-Muslim and was based in Egypt. We reached out to him and he was down to do it — I was shocked. He did the handrawn calligraphy on Yussef Kamaal and The Return. He kind of embodied me in a way — Muslim-Chinese. That’s how I saw my music being reflected in artwork — visually through him.

“We didn’t miss out on anything. Doing that one album makes it even more special.”

Does that translate to The Return?

Oh no, that says Kamaal and the first album said Yussef Kamaal.

Speaking on the latter, can you talk more on that album?

Yeah that album was crazy man. We couldn’t have anticipated it to be as big as it’s been. It’s really quite remarkable to think back the last five to six years. At the time, I was doing the Henry Wu stuff live and then wanting to kind of give another name to the project. When we went into the studio, it was six days of pure state of flow. Shabaka [Hutchings] was there, Malcolm Catto was there, Tom Driessler on bass, Mansur Brown came in the end and yeah, me and Yussef.

I remember trying to shop it around and get it signed. There was some hype going on around it. Giles [Peterson] really wanted to sign it, so we ended up doing it with Brownsville. We sold some ridiculous amount like 70,000 up to this point. So it really changed a lot of our lives.

What happened with the split? Can we anticipate another Yussef Kamaal record in the near future?

All I can say really, I think as artists develop in their careers, it’s very common for people to go their separate ways. That’s all there really is to it. I’m just really glad that Yussef has really become the artist he’s become, because that was always my intention with Yussef Kamaal was to introduce Yussef Dayes to the world and that was why I called the album that way. It was the Henry Wu Trio at first and you know, he was such a phenomenal force and he was just session drumming at the time. So for me, that was one of the main aims of doing that project. I’m just really happy at how things have turned out for both of us. So maybe one day we’ll do another album, but the most important thing is that we did the album. We didn’t miss out on anything. Doing that one album makes it even more special.

Can you take us through your label, Black Focus?

Black Focus was my car. A black Ford Focus that we used to tour in and drive up-and-down the country.

“‘Kamaal, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re in touch with the divine.’”

You’ve worked with some incredible collaborators in the studio — from Lauren Faith and Yussef, to Jianbo and Miguel Atwood-Ferguson. How was it like to create with them and what sounds can we expect in the new records you’ve been making?

Just me and people being from London and being fans of each other’s work. The next work is going to be a continuation of what we’ve been working on before. Similar musicians with a few more additions — a lot more strings, orchestration and more of a deep composition. Also bringing it back to some raw electronic production as well.

For Miguel, we did a couple of WhatsApp phone calls and he just sent me the music and called me saying, ‘Kamaal, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re in touch with the divine.’ And that was basically all he said to me.

He said, ‘look, feel free to give me feedback on the music,’ and I said, ‘I’m not going to give you any feedback. What you send is what I’m going to use.’ We did one track a day in three days. It was perfect. But also a shoutout to Quinn Mason who plays the saxophone, whose very much talented like John Coltrane, Greg Paul on drums and Rick James on bass — the actual real Rick James haha.

Listening to Wu Hen, I can hear Coltrane, but in the modern day — where that visceral percussive sound flows into an ethereal pause — a release almost. How would you describe your own sound?

You know what? I probably wouldn’t describe my own sound, I’d probably just pay a journalist or someone else to do it haha, you know what I mean? It’s not really for me to describe it. You probably describe it better than me…but all I can say is it’s from London. Interestingly, though, most of the people who were on the stage [at the last show] were from America. They’re all American actually. I bring out that sound in them. They all bring their own balance, but it’s interesting when we play my project, that more London sound comes out because I think they really understand the sound from where I come from. I brought them to Europe for like four months.

A lot of different cities and cultures seep into the titles and art direction of your work. From the Sacre-Couer on the DJ-Kicks album, to “Pigalle” and “Toulouse” on Wu Hen. Can you talk about that French influence?

The French have a deep love for the history of Jazz. From when Miles went over there and got treated equally for the first time. So when I play there, I know I’m playing in front of 7-800 people who love Jazz. Also the Jazz stations on radio — it’s all connected there somehow — a deep appreciation. So I just pay homage to that and I spend a lot of time in Pigalle with Stéphane Ashpool who I did the music for a fashion week show. “Toulouse,” it just sounded romantic, to be honest.

What have been your favorite cities or venues to play in?

Tokyo, Lisbon, Sao Paulo, Marrakech, LA, New York.

I got stuck in Morocco for three months when the pandemic first started. They took it really seriously and locked the whole country down from day one. So we couldn’t leave our apartment and in fact, if we wanted to go out during the day, you needed to have permission from the government — just to go to the supermarket. It was nuts.

I didn’t make any music during that time, but I was happy with the break. I started doing graffiti again. Being on the streets again and getting back to my raw essence.

“Being a musician or instrumentalist is a dying art in a way.”

Do you want to further pursue not just graffiti, but art, in the traditional sense, that would one day be shown in a gallery setting?

Definitely. I’m really doing that now. I feel like they’re the same thing to me. I do different things, sometimes it’s in the form of music, sometimes it’ll manifest in the form of a canvas or video or just a conversation. It’s just me — it’s a life thing. Everything I do in life is through the lens of art. I’ve always had that art influence from my parents, who were both architects.

For me, life is constantly through the lens of art. Music is art. When I go to a museum or exhibition, that’s where I feel like, ‘okay, this feels like art to me.’ But when I log onto Spotify…do you know what I mean? Why is a Damien Hirst $5m USD and a Jeezy album $28 USD? I just choose to do my own thing but for the next album, there will be an exhibition/installation.

Can we get a preview as to where that’ll be?

It’s going to start in Paris. I won’t give too much away, but it’s going to be an immersive experience that’s going to embody all my creative influences.

At its core, Jazz is the truest form of American music. It was largely the most popular genre here in the U.S. up until the advent of Rock in the ‘50s and ‘60s. It hasn’t really been as popular since, especially with the youth in America at least. It’s starting to come back, but why do you think that is?

I can’t say really, but I try not to call it Jazz too much, because I think that represented a certain era, like Miles Davis for example. I think music comes around in different waves. There are a lot of live gigs happening and I guess people want to experience something physical in the flesh. Now we’ve got streaming and all that, but being a musician or instrumentalist is a dying art in a way. Not as many kids now are going to pick up a guitar or keyboard. Kids now are on computers or within Logic.

I wonder if the kids now, who are like 15-16, how’re the music departments looking now? I wonder…I don’t really know. Me personally, I never really got into the instrument thing at school, because you were either in a rock band or an emcee. I never really listened to rock like that. So as a drummer, I was trying to be a hip-hop fan and listening to Grime.

Do you keep your faith separate from your music?

No, faith is very much everything. It’s a way of life, so for me, everything I do is for the creator, the most high, whatever you want to call it, God. Ultimately, we’re here for a very short period of time. Music is ethereal. It’s an immaterial element and so is God. I think being in touch with a musical spiritual wave does connect you to that higher force.

You know, in Star Wars, they say ‘May the force be with you’ — that’s essentially what they’re trying to say. Where does the music come from? You’ve got to conjure it up in your mind in the material realm, or you’re going to close your eyes and say, ‘you know what, if this is the last thing I’m going to say to the world, make it something people will remember. Make it something that’s going to heal people.’

Whether you refer to him as Kamaal Williams or Henry Wu, what you see on stage is no different than the man on the streets. No frills, no performance. Wu sees his music as art, and as such, he seeks to transcend the next album as an artistic experience that will tour the globe. Keep your eyes and ears peeled for September.

All photos courtesy of Jess Colquhoun.