Eddie Chacon

The neo-soul progenitor-turned-21st century sage meditates on Career 2.0, death, and Philly Soul

Photo by DeMarquis McDaniels

In the summer of 2020 (yes, peak pandemic lockdown), a new label sent me a record by someone named Eddie Chacon. Did I remember that hit he had back in the day? Despite being a high school kid obsessing over the radio in the early ‘90s, I had never ever heard the one hit wonder that Eddie and Charles Pettigrew had cut back in 1992, “Would I Lie to You?,” but I was absolutely floored by what I heard now. Pleasure, Joy And Happiness was the kind of dusty machine soul that I naturally gravitate towards (I would insert a link to Personal Space, but I’m pretty sure whatever website I enthused about it for is long since kaput), with the singular grain of Chacon’s voice evoking the greats: Al Green, Marvin, et al. The nuanced production from John Carroll Kirby made it all gel.

“I used to tell my wife, ‘If I ever make a record again, I want to make a record you’d have to be my age to make,’” Chacon told me during our first interview, and the lyrics bore that out: calm, clear-eyed, wearied yet wizened by the intervening decades of life. As Kirby put it to me: “I pictured Eddie as this guy looking down from his Spanish casita in Los Feliz, waiting for the right time to come back and make his statement.” The album is a classic for me (or as an online comment observed: “it kind of creeps up on you slowly and works it’s (sic) way into your mind’s eye”).

After decades away from music, Chacon quickly followed it up with Sundown. That diligent pace continues with another insightful study, Lay Low, released at the end of January. Produced by Nick Hakim (Adrienne Lenker, Anderson .Paak, Nilufer Yanya), it keeps the minimal, unhurried soul template intact, with tiny new flourishes that deepen Chacon’s music. He hits those nonchalant, aching high notes like Marvin used to on “Birds,” matched by Hakim’s synth swoops. There’s even some snippets of sitar that brought to mind the classic Philly Soul sound.

Lay Low is a meditation on death, grief, mourning irretrievable loss, in this instance the passing of Chacon’s mother. Throughout the record, sage lines and observations offer succor and comfort without resorting to cliche. I reached out to Chacon while the wildfires were still burning and exchanged a few emails.

I’m relieved to know you are alright amid the recent wildfires.

It’s a deep sadness that I feel seeing my community suffer on such a massive scale. It’s hard to process something so devastating happening to my city that has given me so much. I know several people who have lost everything. I’m still not sure how to articulate everything going through my mind at once. There are literally parts of the city that no longer exist. Places embedded with countless priceless memories that no longer exist.

Since we last spoke in 2020, you have now released three studio albums – this after not doing music for a good decade or more. Were you always writing or did that first album spark the new songs?

Pleasure, Joy and Happiness gave me the chance to make records that I hoped I would one day get to make. I have always had a clear idea of the space I wanted to occupy creatively if the opportunity presented itself. I’m just realizing this dream for the last few years. It’s been a true blessing. The overall lyrical approach and broken-but-meditative musical landscape has been something I thought about for a few years before what I refer to as “career 2.0” happened.

You cut two albums with John Carroll Kirby yet for this one you worked with Nick Hakim. What led to that shift in producers?

JCK gently nurtured me back into doing music. He had acted somewhat as a caring big brother throughout the process. After the release of Sundown, he expressed the thought that I had dusted the cobwebs off and was now firing on all cylinders, so to speak. You might say he gently nudged me out of the nest by encouraging me to work with other people.

At first I was apprehensive and sad about it, but I knew he was right. Soon after that I started traveling to NYC to work with Nick Hakim (who I was a big fan of) on my breaks from touring. The flow was easy and the album Lay Low poured right out of me over the span of 4 or 5 trips. I was eager to address the loss of my mom and my journey through grieving. I felt ready to make a more personal record.

I think in our first interview, either you mentioned a few demos that were more in the Roxy Music/ Bryan Ferry vein and I wonder about the path not taken, so to speak.

I thought of it at the time as a playful loose way for us to get acquainted with each other. I certainly could see those songs winding up on someone else’s record. I’d like that. Bryan Ferry/ Roxy Music has been a huge influence on me. I used to obsess over his vocal style as kid. His solo record, Boys and Girls was a pivotal record for me. Especially, the song, “Slave to Love.”

I loved the way he could seemingly float over a track vocally as though he’s part of the ensemble. It’s as though he used his voice to hold space like an instrument rather then placing himself front and center of the music like most lead vocalist do.

You mentioned the album addresses the death of your mother. When did she pass?

My mom passed on December 10, 2015. We were very close throughout my life. She was my most trusted sounding board for all things life. She was such a wise and wonderful mother; I still find myself quoting her often. She was pretty obsessed with pop psychology when I was a kid growing up in the 60’s. I remember she always had these books: Many Mansions, The Edgar Cayce books on reincarnation and Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore on her bedside table. These books talk about embracing life’s ups and downs in order to better understand and deepen your soul. Pretty strange stuff for a kid to be reading, but I think it somehow formed the way I see the world.

How long did it take you to process that grief?

In some way, I’ll be processing it forever. I’ve heard many people who have lost love ones say there is a part of you that feels if you recover totally you will have lost them all over again to some degree. I suppose I fear that. It will be ten years come this December. The other day I visited her gravesite and I unexpected cried my eyes out. I didn’t realize how big a emptiness her passing had left in me still to this day.

Photo by DeMarquis McDaniels

What was the first song on the album that began to unpack those feelings and opened up the grieving process?

I think “Good Sun” was the first song I wrote thinking about where I was with my grief. She had a great way seeing everything as a teachable moment. She could reframe hardship into something that had value. I always admired that about her and I think that’s what I was getting at with “Good Sun.” I remember sitting outside with her and moving around to different parts of the yard in order to stay in the sun. I thought that was so fun as a child. Captures her perfectly. I carry her in me in this way and I’m grateful for that.

I can always hear Marvin in your delivery, but I also pick up a little more Philly soul this time around.

I was formed by Marvin Gaye, Al Green, Sly Stone, The Temptations, but yes I also was deeply influenced by the music of Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes and Teddy Pendergrass will forever be a favorite of mine. He was a magnetic performer. I think women would throw their underwear up on stage at him during his live shows. I never hear of anyone doing that sort of thing these days.

All kidding aside, from listening to him I picked up that he could really tell a story with his voice. He had grit and rasp, but also that quality that gave you chills from the first moment he comes in singing a song. I would joke that Teddy could make you weep singing “Happy Birthday.”

On Pleasure, Joy and Happiness and Sundown, I felt that I was purposefully running from my past. I didn’t want to fall into the trope of being a heritage act. I was only interested in doing music if I could continue forward on my musical journey. I wanted to continue learning and exploring new avenues.

On Lay Low, my intention was to face my past, but to experiment with peppering in a little of what formed me. The way Nick Hakim voices chords on the piano reminded me of a one of the more potent timeless qualities of Charles and Eddie. I was keen to incorporate a few of those qualities in the sauce and see where it would take me.