Generation Lucozade

You've moved around a lot, do you think of yourself as more Brit or Bajan or Brummie? 
That's a complicated question and the answer depends on who I'm addressing. I was born in London, then moved to Birmingham but also lived in Barbados for ten years. But where am I really from? I don't feel like I'm from anywhere. My links to Barbados are strained and mainly musical, constructed along my artistic journey. I could say I'm from London but I don't feel like anyone really is — there's so many people drifting around that city. Birmingham feels like home because my Mum's here, and that's where I'll be sleeping tonight — in Great Barr. I haven't answered your question have I?

Sort of. What 's the significance of Black History Month to you?
I don't know how I feel about it. In some ways the concept of having a black history month is a problem of itself, because it suggests there's a gulf between one set of histories and another. It is a good thing for people to be made aware of aspects of history they're not familiar with, but black history is not actually a distinct thing — it's the history that centred in blackness at a certain point, but ultimately it's still regular history. It just depends how far you're prepared to look back.

You've played all around the world, do you think audiences are changing?
Absolutely — they're shifting thanks to the power of the Internet. People are told one type of music is for them and another type isn't, but now they can just make up their own minds because it's all online. There's a greater diversity and age demographic, especially in the major cities. And the Brits aren't the reserved crowd they get made out to be —  I can pretty much guarantee a massive rave-up at our bigger gigs.

What's a saxophonist's worst fear?
That something breaks. It happens to me all the time because I sweat so much — I sweat all over the sax — the springs rust and then suddenly snap! You play a note and nothing comes out. People have waited six months to see you, you're half way through a song, you press a key and just sound really bad — and there's nothing you can do.

Yeah your gigs look very physical.
Gigs last for two hours, so it's all about muscular strength. If you take a couple of weeks off playing you can really feel it, when you do. But you see I've got these muscles around my mouth? C'mon touch them — this is what my teacher did to me years ago. I've got these two muscles literally just from playing — without them, there'd be nothing to keep the saxophone in my mouth.

What should people drink when they're listening to your music?
Not traditional things like whisky. Maybe coffee. No! Lucozade — something to keep you up and raving for the whole gig.

How many saxophones have you got?
I've got five and I'll hopefully get a sixth one. And two bass clarinets.

If people have never heard of Sons of Kemet, where should they start? 
A good entry point is probably the second track on our new album — My Queen is Marnie Phipps Clark — good for the general listener who maybe knows some dubstep and jungle and wants to see a link between that and jazz.

You don't have a vocalist. Who does the audience concentrate on at gigs? 
Me — I'm the leader. Sometimes I even take my top off — to make that even more explicit.

And finally, where do you keep your MOBO?
I'm a pretty irreverent guy when it comes to awards. I don't know where my MOBO is — probably in a box somewhere.

Sons of Kemet's gig at the Hare & Hounds on Friday 26 October is sold out but we've got a pair of tickets to give away right here.