BETTER MAN

BETTER MAN

Features

Vocal powerhouse Leon Bridges offers a primer on eye-catching retro style—and sounds off on his new album, his Texas roots and his definition of protest music

Leon Bridges opens his new album, Good Thing, with the deceptively simple line “I better slow down.” The 28-year-old Fort Worth native’s life has indeed been moving at a breakneck pace: In the span of two years he went from dishwasher to Grammy nominee. He kicked off his career— and a major-label bidding war—with the elegiac single “Coming Home.” His 2015 debut album of the same name reverently evokes Sam Cooke and Otis Redding, but his sophomore set, out May 4 on Columbia, is richer and more ambitious, full of musings on his parents’ migration across the South. Bridges conjures postwar American culture in his style as well as in the studio. He’s given to slim suits and polished leather shoes, even if he still harbors memories of the fitted-cap collection he amassed in high school. When PLAYBOY caught up with him, he was in Shreveport, Louisiana, preparing for a show—still for a moment.

What do you find so compelling about midcentury American style?

It’s a powerful statement to dress that way because it’s not common for a black man to do that kind of fashion. And for me, I think it was just a great time; I love the high-waisted pants. So much care went into certain styles back then.

Fashion-wise, what are people doing better today than back then?

I love that style, but I’m not stuck in the past. I’m also inspired by A$AP Rocky, Lil Uzi Vert and those guys. You can take stuff from the past but also combine it with modern things.

What kind of fashion phases did you go through in high school?

I graduated in 2007, so the big thing back then was tall tees and faded baggy jeans— and, you know, Filas. [laughs] My style has definitely evolved.

How did growing up in the South influence the way you dress today?

One thing I take from the South is the whole country-western look. You’ve got guys wearing bolo ties and Stetsons and Western shirts. I like to incorporate that.

A lot of contemporary R&B is minimalistsort of cool and steely—but Good Thing is full and lush. Where did you draw inspiration from this time?

Man, all that’s just from the influences I’ve gathered on my journey. You can point out guys like R. Kelly, Usher and Townes Van Zandt that I pull inspiration from. A lot of R&B today feels, to me, kind of shallow—but it all sounds good. I

THAT’S SOMETHING I’VE BEEN GROWING INTO: LOVING MYSELF.

wanted to make music that’s intentional. Good Thing is a diverse album, but it’s not a huge, conceptual thing. It’s just my experiences with relationships and songs of triumph, and my narrative.

You made the album with Ricky Reed, who’s known for producing pop hits for the likes of Twenty One Pilots and Meghan Trainor. What drew you to him?

A story about that: Before we made this album we collaborated on a DeJ Loaf song—she’s from Detroit, an amazing rapper. In that session he was able to push me to record a vocal that was not really in my register. I felt if he could push me out of my comfort zone, he could bring me into something new for this project. It was super collaborative; he’s a real musician. He could have made Coming Home Part Two if he wanted to, but our goal was to make something fresh.

Has the Trump administration made you reconsider the role of an artist in society?

It definitely has made me rethink my role as a musician, and I think it’s on us to speak on those things when it’s the right time. But I don’t want to just throw that in a song and rush it; I want it to be organic—for it to make sense and still be a good song at the end of the day. But honestly, I don’t even think about Trump. What I think about is how I can better myself and be impactful to somebody else, to people in my neighborhood. That’s the only way it’s gonna get done.

On the last song from Good Thing you sing about being a kid in school, and then you say, “I fell short of what true blackness was.” What made you feel that way?

It was definitely my peers in high school. I feel like this is still something that’s happening: not living up to the standard of what a “true black person” should be. Growing up, if you don’t meet that certain standard—if you’re not hood enough or ghetto enough, or if you have the desire to better yourself—you’re white. That’s kind of what I dealt with, and with not really being comfortable with my own self and identity.

Have you found some sort of resolution with those feelings?

Definitely. I’m comfortable not looking like everybody else. That’s something I’ve been growing into: loving myself. It has been a struggle as a musician, and not being a person who has aperfect look. But I’ve definitely been growing to loving myself and being comfortable in my own skin. ¦