Nick Hakim’s Listening Party

In Studio Res with the New York Artist Whose Sophomore Album Will Soothe Your Days

  • Interview: Ross Scarano
  • Illustration: Crystal Zapata

Nick Hakim’s studio, housed in a large building on a block near a cemetery and a halal shop where you can purchase live chickens to be butchered, is cluttered with signs of life. Fat streaks of black, silver, and red marker cover the walls, the signatures of friends who left a doodle or a tag before dipping to catch the L. Its two stories are connected by a steep wooden staircase that leads up from the recording space to a lofted area stuffed with records—vinyl and cassette—a couch, a chair, a desk, a lone window, too. When I first visited, a friend’s congas were a recent addition. There were other drums, keys, mics, cords, a computer. Nick’s studio is a hub for friends and collaborators, veteran musicians and young instrumentalists across genres. For months, no one’s been inside.

Born in Washington D.C. and educated at Berklee College of Music, in Boston, Hakim grew up at the edges of different experiences: his older brother’s revelatory forrays into the District’s hardcore scene, bringing back new acts and albums to share with his younger sibling; the political folk music from South America his parents played in the house, evoking their lives in Peru here in the States; Nick’s own taste, coming into being amidst these discrete sounds and scenes. Is it any wonder his own music can be so difficult to place? It’s a thick soup. Jazz musician chops, with watery, acid-trip vocals. Dripping funk atop dreamy lyrics, sometimes vivid and sometimes abstract.

After meeting in his studio, we next spoke in May, two weeks before the release of his sophomore album, WILL THIS MAKE ME GOOD. Over videochat, Nick wore a white surgical mask. “I was talking with a musician friend yesterday,” Nick said. “I asked him what’s different now and he said, ‘This is kind of the lifestyle already: We’re quarantined in our own ways, in studios.’”

Except Nick’s studio isn’t meant to be a solitary space; the New York renaissance evident on recent projects like Onyx Collective’s Manhattan Special or Slauson Malone’s A Quiet Farwell—Nick’s never more than a degree removed from the action, if he’s not already a player in it. He covers “My Funny Valentine” on Onxy Collective’s reimagining of standards by Rodgers and Hart; he and Slauson recently produced a song for L.A.-based artist Pink Siifu, on his album NEGRO.

At the start of the pandemic, Nick moved his essential equipment to his apartment, so he could still write and record. Used to spending every single day at the studio, he was still adjusting to being productive in the space he’d marked for everything but. “It’s hard to be creative here,” he said, speaking from the roof of his apartment building, where he can take a call without disturbing roommates (and also exercise comfortably). “I was in a good routine in terms of separating my creative space from my living space, and that changed a lot of my bad habits.” Now, time for new habits.

Ross Scarano

Nick Hakim

WILL THIS MAKE ME GOOD resonates in a totally different way now, especially the lyrics about being a neighbor and being kind to your space. How do you think about those lines in the context of the quarantine? What does being a good neighbor look like now?

I have a few friends I see, because they live in the neighborhood, and we’ll share supplies and food. One friend cooks a lot and will drop off bread. The laundromat around here just opened up and I brought the woman who works there some food I had made. Community is more about your immediate surroundings now. Little neighborhood interactions that keep the relationships strong, show that we’re watching out for each other and respecting each other’s space.

Are you cooking often?

I love to cook.

Nick’s essential meals:

Green Thai curry with chicken and basmati rice, Eggs, toast, and sautéed greens, Red lentils over rice, One cup of pour-over coffee each day you gotta grind the beans yourself though.

What can you see from your roof?

I’m looking into Downtown Manhattan. That’s the Freedom Tower. I haven’t been into Manhattan yet, which is cool. But I really miss Manhattan—I’d go there like every other day. Always downtown, exploring the city or hanging out with friends. I should ride my bike in today. But then I think, what? Am I gonna go to my friend’s house? Nah.

What kind of a bike do you have?

A single speed Fuji Feather, but it’s all custom parts. I’ve upgraded most of it. I used to do a lot of work on my bike. That’s my money bike.

Nick’s music to bike to:

  • Body War by Show Me the Body- Point by Cornelius

What are you doing to procrastinate?

Watching a lot of nonsense. This Netflix documentary, The West. It’s about North America when settlers arrived in the Americas, and tells stories about specific tribes that were affected by European settlers. I’m watching Narcos, Curb Your Enthusiasm, from the first season. I kinda let that play in the background while I’m cooking or cleaning the house. I’m watching Community for the first time and liking that a lot. Surviving Escobar, which is like a telenovela on Netflix—I’ve been trying to watch stuff in Spanish.

Nick’s exercise equipment:

  • 20 lb. dumbbells
  • Resistance bands
  • His bike

How are you thinking about collaboration now, under quarantine?

My friend Spencer, who plays bass on the album, I sent him something that I’ve been working on and he sent it back with a bassline and some weird guitars, and that was so cool. I think a lot of people are in the mood to collaborate, because they don’t have a lot else to do. So I like just sending my friends shit. I’m excited about it.

I’ve been playing the Onyx Collective project a lot. What’s your relationship to “My Funny Valentine”?

Man, I love that song and I love Chet Baker’s rendition of it. I’ve learned a lot from listening to Chet—about my voice, about straight tone, about control, about vibrato and phrasing. I was introduced to him by a music teacher in high school. He heard me singing when I was first trying it, at 16 or 17, and I was trying to do a lot. I was trying to sing these runs but I didn’t have any breath control. He said, “You have to listen to Nat King Cole and Chet Baker. Learn their songs and try to sing them like they do.”

What makes standards so persistent?

The songwriting. The romance of what they’re trying to convey, and the language they use. It’s so smart and clever and elegant. It’s beautifully said in these small phrases. How they’ll describe someone: “Is your figure less than Greek?” That’s what amazes me about songwriting, that you can say something so profound in just a sentence.

Nick’s ultimate love song:

  • “Naima” by John Coltrane

Recently you tweeted about the Meshell Ndegeocello version of “Sometimes It Snows in April,” which is from an album of hers that’s only covers. What’s exciting about a cover? What makes for a good one?

I think she’s holding the torch for reimagining one piece of music, taking it and making it your own. All these incredible jazz musicians that we love and cherish, that’s what they did: they took standards and reinterpreted them. Meshell is a master at reinterpretation. So is Nina Simone. With Meshell, you can tell how deeply she understands the song or the artist, you can tell she’s nerded out and gone into the discography. She’s one of my favorite living musicians.

Nick’s favorite songs to put you in a trance:

  • “Life Is Something Special” by NYC Peech Boys
  • “Maggot Brain” by Funkadelic

As a listener, I’m excited by the collaboration I see in this New York scene that encompasses folks like Onyx Collective, KeiyaA, Ian Isaiah, Medhane, MIKE, and you. Does it feel like a community?

I think so. Everybody is tapped in and has a lot of love and respect for one another. I don’t see all these people all the time, but everyone you just mentioned I know them and love what they do. It’s a small community, and I think there’s a whole other list of people that not everyone knows about, who are up-and-coming. There are so many little worlds in New York, all these webs of people who are one-degree connected to someone else. New York is still home to a lot of really serious instrumentalists. People come here to study and pursue a career as a performing musician. But it’s also home to visual artists and fashion designers and dancers, and we’re all intertwined.

Does it feel like a nurturing community, in that people are reaching out to help the new folks?

I try my best to be there for anybody who reaches out. I’m guilty of not being super good on my phone, but if you catch me at the right time I’m open. That’s what my studio is. On top of me making my records there, it’s a space for people to make shit and hang out.

Nick Hakim’s studio guest book (partial):

  • Slauson Malone
  • Pink Siifu
  • Nelson Bandela
  • Gabriel Garzón-Montano
  • Lianne La Havas
  • Nilüfer Yanya
  • Jon Bap
  • Actress
  • Show Me the Body
  • Moses Sumney
  • The Free Nationals
  • AceMo

One of the defining qualities of this community of artists seems to be a willingness to disregard genre.

Oh yeah. It’s not about genre. It’s about your vibe and your willingness to contribute to the conversation in a way that’s meaningful and isn’t about building your social capital, or about monetary success. Sometimes it’s about similar moral values, sometimes it’s just about sharing a friend group. It’s not about conforming to a certain style, it’s about doing what you feel. I think Pink Siifu is a really great example of that. On his last record Slauson Malone and I produced a song called “run pig run.” It’s a cool blend of his aggressiveness and his dynamic rhythms. His new record NEGRO is genreless. In hip-hop especially you can see more influence from other genres, like hardcore and punk. There’s this new dude, ize, who has a song called “This Is Not a Drill” that’s produced by my friend AceMo. I don’t really know how to describe AceMo—I guess you could call him house? He’s just crazy good at what he does.

Music that reminds Nick of home:

  • “Still Ray” by Backyard Band (“All through my teenage years, I didn’t know this was a cover.”)
  • “Volver a los Diecisiete” by Violeta Parra (“Reminds me of my mom.”)

During the process of finalizing this story, George Floyd was killed in police custody, after a Minneapolis police officer knelt on Floyd’s neck for minutes. The protests in Floyd’s name, and in the names of the all Black people killed recently by police brutality and white supremacy—Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, Rayshard Brooks, Layleen Polanco, Elijah McClain, Ahmaud Arbery—became a unifying force of change in America, shifting focus away from the pandemic. Nick and I spoke again, in late June.

How is New York?

This isn’t something to post about now and forget in two weeks. And there is really amazing information being spread around. A lot of well-put perspective from very intelligent people. And trying to gauge in my immediate friend groups, to see what people are talking about. A big part of this is to address your own community and not expect to be guided by Black people right now. You have to do your research and some work if you really empathize and think that these are issues that matter.

My family's from South America, and there's so much racism and anti-Blackness and disgusting bigotry with how people have been treated there. You have to be ready to have those conversations within your own family.

Have you had any of those like hard conversations with family and friends recently?

Definitely. I’m not gonna get too specific but I've had some tough conversations. And thankfully, all of them have resolved into understanding. I've been having a lot of conversations in general about these issues with all kinds of friends and people I love. I’m trying to find ways to actually contribute to the change. A lot of it is about where your head’s at. There’s a lot of pain and some people just don’t understand these issues. We’re not really taught about them in-depth. It’s information that you have to seek out. We learn about slavery in school and then you jump to the Civil War. We need reparations and a fucking apology. I don’t think the nation has ever come to terms with its history. I saw someone say, “You’re lucky that Black folks just want equality and don’t want revenge.”

What have you seen in the protests that stuck with you?

A lot of different kinds of people. New York is so diverse. Walking through Manhattan, going against traffic on Seventh Avenue at four o'clock in the afternoon. Looking up at these giant buildings, and you see hands out windows and signs and people ringing bells. You feel the energy and spirit of the sentiment. You feel the compassion and the anger.

Who gives you hope?

My friends. In terms of people who have a platform, I really love Noname. She’s so smart. But man, my garden gives me hope. I think it’s such an amazing parallel, when you tend to something and water it with your energy. Every single time you water your plants it’s an act of love. And what’s giving me hope is that you can apply that elsewhere. To these issues and how we treat ourselves. Check in with yourself, even if it’s uncomfortable. If you have a conversation and someone calls you out, listen and try not to get defensive.

What are you growing?

I have some basil, tomatoes, shishito peppers and jalapeno peppers, some dill, parsley, cilantro, hemp, cucumber. I have some mint, which grows crazy. I got all these babies from a couple friends who live around the corner. I come up here and have conversations with my friends, right next to my plants.

What makes you afraid?

That people will forget about this, will forget about these issues and move on.

Being a listener has not become easier during quarantine. Time’s out of joint and paying sustained attention often seems to come at too high a cost. I’m not living alone at the moment and without privacy (and good speakers), I find myself less inclined to take in a new album from start to finish. Even beloved favorites become fidgety three or four songs in. It’s a reminder that listening isn’t passive, it’s work. Seen that way I feel less bad, more up to the challenge of gathering up my fractured attention, focusing it the way you’d flex a muscle or mind your posture. This isn’t where I tell you that Nick’s album cut through the noise, that I heard it with ease. No. Nick’s album, with all its affecting imperfections, calls for effort. Lately the final song “WHOO” has been all I want to hear. Accompanied by some very soothing flute, played by Jesse Sheinin, Nick repeats, “I started using myself around you.” I like that. It’s a good reminder that putting yourself to use is a decision you can make, when you want.

Ross Scarano is a writer and editor from Pittsburgh.

  • Interview: Ross Scarano
  • Illustration: Crystal Zapata
  • Date: July 15, 2020
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