GRAMN: “Connecting with other humans is my primary goal in life, not just in music”
Ahead of GRAMN's Family Affair show at Ronnie Scott's, we caught up with vocalist Aux to talk about chosen family, trusting your gut, growing up in Hackney and why some of the best ideas make absolutely no sense on paper.
Family Affair is such a good title. What does family mean to you these days?
I think my family's always been chosen. I come from a slightly chaotic background, and my mum was very much like, 'It doesn't matter if somebody's your brother and isn't your blood.' You choose your family based on how people treat you and a certain level of respect.
The title also has to do with the fact that if you walk into a household where my relatives are, you're going to hear three or four-part harmony. Someone is going to be singing. Someone is going to be tapping. The boys that can't sing—and for some reason it's only the boys in my family that can't sing—will be rapping or tapping on a table. It's noisy every day in my house.
With GRAMN, it's always been about the music and it's always been about the people. Not really about a lot of the fluff that comes with the music industry.
Our main goal is that if you listen to a song, we want it to provoke some sort of emotion. When you come to a show, I want you to leave feeling something. Connecting with other humans is my primary goal in life, not just in music.
What's the biggest thing people get completely wrong about you?
That I'm scary. Or that I'm serious. I'm not serious, guys.
When I smile in pictures, people say I look like I've done something and I'm waiting for everyone to find out what the secret is. So I've become a bit paranoid about smiling in photos.
I've always been a little bit... I wouldn't say moody, but I'm definitely a dark individual. I'm a bit morbid. I'm obsessed with death.
One of my friends said to me, 'The biggest thing I clocked once we became friends is that you're not serious.' And I'm not serious. Like, about anything.
Were you a naughty kid?
I was a bit naughty. I was also quite sassy. I spoke to my mum in a Southern accent, like a Texan accent, for a week and tried to convince her I was speaking another language and that she couldn't understand me.
She'd be like, "You're speaking English."
And I'd be like, "What? No I'm not. I'm speaking cowboy language."
My mum was just like, this child.
Outside of music, what are you obsessed with?
Food. Always food. If I wasn't a musician I'd be a chef.
Me and my producer James have actually been talking about doing a GRAMN dinner party where we don't gig, we just cook. We only play GRAMN music and serve food inspired by the songs.
What's your signature dish?
A dark chocolate Guinness Punch tart. I've never messed it up.
Guinness Punch is a Caribbean drink made with Guinness, condensed milk, and nutmeg. I basically take Guinness Punch and reduce it down into a caramel. It's my favourite thing because it tastes posh. Like you should be paying eight pounds a slice somewhere fancy, but I made it in my house.
Have you ever made a decision that made no sense on paper but changed everything?
Releasing Glow Up. The whole first verse is in Spanish, and people were saying, 'You're a UK artist with a UK audience. Are you sure you want to release a song that starts in Spanish?' And I was like, 'Why? It's a tune.'
I remember thinking, 'Do you not think it's more interesting that there's an East London Black girl singing Spanish on an R&B track?' I think that's unskippable.
Everyone kept telling me it didn't make sense. But I was like, 'I know it doesn't make sense, but we should do it anyway.'
The song ended up taking off in Mexico, Argentina, and Spain. I was getting messages from people saying they were playing it to their kids. It definitely wasn't supposed to work, but it did.
Has anything recently changed the way you see yourself?
I had no intention of being an artist because I didn't really trust my voice. I only trusted it well enough to write things. My producer was like, 'No one else can sing this.' And I was like, 'Nah, anyone can sing it.'
But as a result of doing it anyway, I became a significantly better singer. Now I listen back to things and think, 'I can't believe I sang that.'
The other thing is learning that saying sorry isn't an admission of inadequacy. I'm quite a perfectionist—not just in music, but in the kind of person I want to be. So admitting I'm wrong doesn't come naturally to me.
But saying sorry isn't weakness. It's accountability. That's been a big learning thing for me.
Forty years from now, what do you hope people understand about GRAMN?
That we have strived to tell the truth in the most sonically satisfying way possible.
'Problems' is about gaslighting. 'Norman Bates' is literally about me wanting to send my ex to hell. But musically, people are having the best time. I think that's our thing. It's the easiest way to sugar-coat something.
You can tell someone a really harsh truth and somehow make them want to hear it again.
I like leaving little treats for people to discover. That's what makes a classic. I didn't spend all this time studying, writing, and working with incredible musicians to make something that lasts twenty seconds. I want to make things people are still listening to years later.
What places in Hackney take you on a trip down memory lane?
Mess Cafe
Go to Mess Cafe! One time I went in and decided I was being healthy. I didn't order the fried potatoes.
The woman looked at me and said, 'No potatoes?'
I said, 'No, I'm being healthy this week.'
She said, 'You've been ordering potatoes here since you were eighteen.'
Lo and behold, she brought my potatoes anyway. I didn't order them. She didn't charge me for them. She was just like, 'This is what I know you to do.'
That's Mess. You've got builders grabbing breakfast before work, older people who live locally, families, kids spending their pocket money, people travelling through London. Everyone ends up there. It's proper Hackney.
The Adventure Playground
There was an adventure playground around the corner from my house, and there was a guy there called Arnold.
I was obsessed with tadpoles, and he gave me a tank so I could raise them. My mum absolutely wasn't having it in the house, so we kept them at the playground instead.
I was really shy and had quite bad social anxiety, but Arnold never made me feel weird about it. He'd just let me do things in my own time.
I still see Arnold now. Shout out Arnold. He was that guy.
One time I got lost in what we called 'the forest'. When I tell you it wasn't a forest. It was basically a few trees behind the adventure playground.
I could literally see Arnold through the bushes, but I'd already decided I was lost and couldn't get out. He ended up climbing through all these bushes to rescue me from a situation entirely of my own making.
Millfields Park
One of my favourite walks is from Round Chapel to Millfields Park.
My nan used to take us there once a month, and we'd always eat way too much food. Then she'd make us walk the long way home so we could digest it all.
The other reason I love it is because there's a circle of trees in the park, and every full moon lands perfectly in the middle of them. Apparently, they were planted that way years ago. Every single full moon lands right in the centre.
It's honestly magical.
Ridley Road Market
Ridley Road Market can never change. Some of the best memories of my life are there.
It's chaos. It smells like fish. The week before Easter is madness. All the aunties are out getting lamb and fish for the weekend, and all the traders are having the time of their lives. I love it.
Right at the back of the market, there's a row of Caribbean shops selling things you just don't find anywhere else: different types of mangoes, breadfruit, yams, coconuts.
For me, Ridley Road Market is like Switzerland. You've got old Dalston and new Dalston. Market traders, artists, families, students—everybody. It's one of those places where everyone becomes the same person.
If you're in Ridley Road, you're in Ridley Road.
Who are you spotlighting today?
It's got to be Jerome Thomas.
I've known Jerome since I was eight years old. He's one of my best friends in the world and a massive part of who I am as a musician.
When I get worried about whether something's good, he's usually the person I play it to. He's been rock solid in my life for a very, very long time.
I think he probably deserves the spotlight.