Jacob Collier on Joni Mitchell, Quincy Jones and the Grammys

In a category dominated by the likes of Beyoncé, Billie Eilish and Taylor Swift, Jacob Collier is unquestionably the least famous musician nominated for album of the year at Sunday’s 67th Grammy Awards. Yet the English singer, songwriter, producer and multi-instrumentalist is actually a familiar contender for the Grammys’ flagship prize: His dark-horse nod for “Djesse Vol. 4” follows an earlier album of the year nomination for 2020’s “Djesse Vol. 3,” which vied against LPs by Post Malone, Dua Lipa and Coldplay at the 63rd Grammys. (Taylor Swift ended up winning that year with “Folklore.”)

Featuring appearances by a wide variety of guests — among them Brandi Carlile, Michael McDonald, Anoushka Shankar, Shawn Mendes, Kirk Franklin and John Mayer — the sprawling yet intricately detailed “Djesse Vol. 4” layers electronics and hand-played instruments as it blends R&B, jazz, folk and even a bit of death metal; the album’s opener, “100,000 Voices,” features recordings of about that many audience members at Collier’s concerts, where he conducts the crowd like a giant choir.

In addition to album of the year, Collier, 30, is up for two more Grammys at Sunday’s show: global music performance for “A Rock Somewhere” and arrangement, for a rendition of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” featuring John Legend and Tori Kelly. Collier discussed the album and his relationships with Joni Mitchell and the late Quincy Jones on a recent afternoon in Los Angeles.

You’ve said that “Djesse Vol. 4” is the last installment in a four-album series. Did you always know it would be the finale?
I did, actually. I finished “In My Room,” which is the first album I made, as a completely solitary mission — recorded, mixed, everything by myself. So after that I was craving collaboration. I wanted to make, in a sense, four different rooms, each dictated by a different sonic environment. The first was like an orchestral record — very big and broad and sort of explosive. Vol. 2 was more folky and singer-songwriter-y, with a smaller acoustic space than the first one. Vol. 3, which was the quarantine album, was almost no space at all. It was what happens in the dark, weird star field of your brain when you just collide stuff together.

And Vol. 4?
For a long time I didn’t know what it was gonna be about. But touring Vol. 3, the thing I fell in love with was the audience. What I recognized in my fascination is that it felt the same to the earliest days, except that now the voice I was more interested in was the voice en masse rather than my own.

Among the nominees for album of the year, yours would seem to share the most with “New Blue Sun,” André 3000’s experimental jazz LP. But he’s talked about the value of a beginner’s mind in his journey as a flute player, whereas I don’t hear much naivete in your music.
I think part of the nature of a fourth album of four is that it’s going to be a bit of an opus to what I’ve learned in the last 10 years of making music. It’s different from “In My Room,” which was very much about naivete: I’ve never done this before. What happens when you make an album? Let’s find out. But this one isn’t a naïve record. I wouldn’t say it’s coming out of the blue.

Have you heard André’s album?
Yeah. I think the value of that record, in a funny way, isn’t a musical value. And I’d imagine he’d be OK with that. The songs all have these 10-word titles, like a diary entry. I’m refreshed by how nonconformist the format of the record is. It doesn’t make me want to make music, but it makes me want to think differently about my life. I wonder how he’ll feel about the record in 20 years’ time. I’m curious what he’s learned from it. I’m also curious who voted for it. He’s such a beloved and well-known figure, but in terms of what the Grammys stand for, which is always a little bit hard to say, I wonder where he sits in that. I’m glad he’s in there, because it’s unlike any other album in the category. It’s very “f— you” in a sense. I love him for that.

I saw you play piano with Joni Mitchell at the Hollywood Bowl last year. How’d you become part of the Joni Jam?
I met Brandi Carlile in 2021 as she was in the process of rekindling Joni’s magic. Joni had been home alone — really, really fragile — and Brandi, who’s just this amazing human, had this vision of the Joni Jams, where people come to Joni’s house and we sing Joni songs. So I went to Joni’s house and was absolutely blown away to even be there. The wall with dulcimers from the ’70s, the paintings on the doorways — it was just unbelievable as a huge Joni fan. I did that and thought, Well, that was a one-off. I was imagining that Joni was kind of on the decline. But she’s gone from strength to strength. So then Brandi called me beginning of last year and said, “Look, Joni’s gonna sing at the Grammys — are you gonna be around?” We played “Both Sides Now” on the show, which then kind of became the Joni Jam at the Hollywood Bowl.

Some things about Joni’s musicianship have deteriorated: She doesn’t play much guitar anymore, and her voice is an octave lower than it was. But her phrasing is intact, and that’s when you know that she’s really a jazzer and that she’s hung out with Wayne Shorter. Every time you do a song, she’ll sing slightly early or slightly late or slightly elongated. And I think once she realized that I was also one of those people, we kind of had a bit of a click. It was really amazing to kind of grant each other that freedom, because a lot of people in that band were very religiously playing her parts. And if they hadn’t been in the band, it would’ve fallen apart. You can’t have just Jonis in the band, you know? I had the delight to be brought in to kind of decorate, to play around — to almost tease her up into the jousting arena. I’ll never forget it.

Jacob Collier in Los Angeles.

(Annie Noelker/For The Times)

The set list for the Bowl show was completely insane.
Insane! The first half was just us saying, “Joni, what do you want to do?” She was like, “I want to play the deepest cuts.” And then the second half was more of the well-known tunes. She’s at a point in her career where she could easily say, “I’m gonna put a bow on this, and you’re gonna love it.” But she’s still pushing.

Your mentor Quincy Jones died last year. Do you think anything died with him? Something he did or stood for that we won’t see again?
The biggest gift I received from him was watching how he treated people. You don’t create that kind of legacy without understanding how to reach people’s souls and hearts. I think we won’t see a person with that combination of talent, audacity and humanity. Obviously, it’s there in the music. But being with him in the world, people would come up and say, “Quincy, you’ve done this and this and this,” and he always had a way of disarming them — cutting off the stream of adulation and making it a human interaction.

You have a favorite song or album of his?
One of the first tunes I ever learned of Quincy’s is a song called “Razzamatazz,” from “The Dude.” Patti Austin sings it. It’s just a perfect piece of music — so funky and so fun.

“Just Once” is the one for me from “The Dude.” The thing that happens at the end —
Where it goes up a tone: [sings] “Find a way to stay together…” It’s unreal. The thing about Quincy is he understood the harmonic context of stuff like that because he’d done the arranging thing. The song could easily have stayed in C-major, but no — it must ascend. He was just the coolest.

What’s your stodgiest musical position?
I can be quite a stickler with tuning. I’ve explored microtonality, so on the one hand, it’s like everything’s in tune, right? But sometimes I’ll hear a brass sextet or a string quartet play a piece of classical music perfectly in tune with the piano, and I’m like, “That’s such a shame, because the piano itself is not in tune.”

Now that the “Djesse” project is complete, what will your next record be?
I don’t know yet. It’s the first time I’ve not known for seven years — that’s a thrill for me. A lot of the things I’ve built and made in the past have been big, “100,000 Voices” as the biggest example. Now that I’ve done that, I think my brain is craving smaller containers. What if I made a record just on piano or just on guitar?

If it can’t be you, who would you enjoy seeing win album of the year?
I think Beyoncé’s record is courageous, and I commend people for that. She could have not made that record, or she could have made something more straightforward. I think it was brazen, and I think it came from a place of really knowing what she wanted to say and really f—ing saying it. So I’d be pretty stoked to lose to Beyoncé.