The following is an as-told-to remembrance of Fitzroy "Bunny Diamond" Simpson, who rose to fame in the GRAMMY-nominated Jamaican roots reggae group Mighty Diamonds in the early 1970s and continued into the early 2020s. This transcript has been edited for clarity.

As a child growing up, I used to go to a lot of his shows with him. Most of the time, he'd go for six months and stuff, on tour. Those times, he was away; we were home. But when he was doing local shows and stuff, he'd take me and my sister Ronece with him. Boys usually stay home; the girls get to go.

They were outdoors, on the beach and stuff. Sometimes, they used to have them at the movie theater. They were informal, because he grew up in [Kingston neighborhood] Trenchtown as a boy — where Bob Marley and [other major musicians] grew up. Trenchtown was a ghetto area; a rough area. So, he moved out after he started to have kids and stuff; I'm the first child.

Most of the time, when they would rehearse, sometimes it would be in the backyard — playing their guitars and stuff like that. They would come together and write music, then improvise from that in the studio. He played a song and usually asked me if I liked it. Usually, when I would dance to the music, he knew that song was going to be a hit.

First, it was "Right Time" back in '76. And then, you had "I Need a Roof." Later on came "Pass the Kouchie." Then, you had "Identity." You had "Shame and Pride." It was quite a few songs back to back that they had coming. "Pass the Kouchie" was one of the songs that Musical Youth sung over; they sang "dutchie" instead of "kouchie."

Lord, he was funny. He was. He was a storyteller. He used to tell us a lot of stories, and he had a nickname for everyone. He used to watch a lot of comedies and stuff like that, so he was more like a chatterbox. Once you were around him, you were laughing. Everyone loved to be around him because he was peaceful and didn't like to be around anything too rowdy.

He was a loving person; you could reason with him about anything. He would tell you things to do; encourage you — then you knew what route to take and stuff like that. [His late Mighty Diamonds bandmate] Tabby was a more quiet person, apart from his music, and getting together with friends sometimes and singing and dancing. But he was more chilled. He was also very peaceful.

The Mighty Diamonds are still out there on the map, because a lot of people love their music. It's like their music never dies, because of the type of music that they sing. They live on forever. You can listen to it over and over. You see people dancing and singing; sometimes you hear someone playing the music in their car, or just on the street playing them on the sound.

I was back home in December, and anywhere you went, you heard the music. You're always going to hear it in the party or the club — anywhere you go. You just get a vibe every time you play that music.

He was very sheltered when it came down to me. He was like, You're a girl, and based on what I see out there, I don't want you to get involved in the music industry.He used to tell us the stories, and he was like: Ah, I don't think that's for you.

In 2015, he had a little minor stroke, and then in 2017, that's when he got the major one. That was what kind of held him down. And with that, he was diabetic and stuff. When he got that major stroke, he made a huge recovery. He was still performing [up until then]. [The Mighty Diamonds] stuck together for almost 50 years.

He still wanted to do music. I was like, No way! You have this time for you to relax. So, it was just the other two doing their music. We still played the music around him; it gave him so much strength. Even though he was sick, if you called him on the phone, you were talking to someone that is not sick. Because there comes a joke; there comes a story.

[When he died, my sister] wanted me to see what was happening [in person], because she didn't want me to see it on social media. It still bothers me; the other day, I had a breakdown. But I'm so happy that before it happened, I had gone down and spent some time with him — and we had a good laugh with him. Sometimes, in the moment, I play his music to get some comfort.

My last happy memory [of him] is when I gave my surprise. He didn't know I was going to visit him. My sister didn't say anything; she just let us keep the secret. I was standing behind the door. He was sitting in the living area. He wanted to go lay down, and they were like, "No, no, no, just wait a few more minutes!" And then my sister said, "I have a surprise for you."

He was so happy to see me; he grabbed my hand and started laughing. And right away, he began telling me a story.

In Remembrance: How Jessie D. Of The Force M.D.'s Became A Quantum Entertainer & Changed R&B Forever

It was a big week for music in Memphis. The 45th annual Blues Music Awards, a top honor in the genre, were handed out on Thursday, May 9, in Memphis, Tenn. in a ceremony sponsored by the Recording Academy. The awards were the capstone to several days of blues-related events, including the annual Blues Hall of Fame induction ceremony the day before.  

An audience of approximately 1,000 — including industry professionals, fans, and some of the genre's biggest artists — packed the grand main exhibit hall of the recently renovated Renasant Convention Center for the BMAs banquet, produced by the Memphis-based Blues Foundation. With 25 awards and more than a dozen performances, the awards show, hosted by broadcast veteran Tavis Smiley, often felt more like a homecoming than an industry event.

Read below for four key takeaways from this year's Blues Music Awards and Blue Hall of Fame Ceremony.

Mississippi's Blues Roots Remain Strong

Located right next to Memphis, Mississippi is home to one of the country's four GRAMMY Museums and is widely regarded as one of the birthplaces — if not the birthplace — of the blues. The state has nurtured some of the genre's greatest talents, including Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, and B.B. King. The Magnolia State's deep connection to the blues was evident during the awards, with Mississippi mainstays and GRAMMY winners Bobby Rush and Christone "Kingfish" Ingram among the top winners. 

Despite a 65-year age difference, Rush and Ingram share a deep devotion to the blues. At 90 years old, Rush, an incredibly spry chitlin' circuit road warrior who has re-emerged in recent years as perhaps one the blues' biggest stars, won Best Soul Blues Album for All My Love for You and his second B.B. King Entertainer of the Year award. Ingram, only 25 years old and already a GRAMMY winner for Best Contemporary Blues Album in 2022, was the night's top winner, taking home four awards: Album of the Year and Contemporary Blues Album of the Year for Live in London, Contemporary Blues Male Artist, and Instrumentalist-Guitar.

Other multiple award winners included another artist originally from Mississippi, 79-year-old Chicago guitarist John Primer, who won Traditional Blues Male Artist and Traditional Blues Album for Teardrops for Magic Slim, and Texas' Ruthie Foster, who captured top vocalist honors and won Song of the Year for "What Kind Of Fool," co-written with Hadden Sayers and Scottie Miller.

The Blues Need To Be Seen To Be Heard

Though the BMAs largely honor recorded works, the show itself emphasized that the blues are a genre best experienced live. The ceremony, which ran about four hours (historically on the shorter side for this event), was packed full of performances, most running longer than your typical awards show slots. 

Highlights included the opening set by emerging artist nominee Candice Ivory, who performed selections from her BMA-nominated album When the Levee Breaks: The Music of Memphis Minnie, backed by keyboardist Ben Levin and guitarist William Lee Ellis, who also played songs from his album Ghost Hymns, a nominee for Best Acoustic Album.

Another Mississippi artist, powerhouse bandleader Castro Coleman, known as Mr. Sipp, who has one GRAMMY nomination and an appearance on a GRAMMY-winning Count Basie Orchestra album, brought the crowd to their feet early with his gospel-fueled segment. To cement his Best Guitarist win, Ingram delivered a blistering performance with his band, wading into the audience for one of his beautifully precise, soaring solos.

There was so much music to be heard that it spilled out into the streets. Most nights following BMA-related events, fans and fellow artists could be found in the clubs on Beale Street, the famous Home of the Blues, for showcases and impromptu jam sessions. These were highlighted by the 10th annual Down In the Basement fundraiser for the Blues Foundation on Wednesday. Organized and hosted by Big Llou Johnson, a blues musician and host of Sirius XM's B.B. King's Bluesville channel, the show featured appearances by Mr. Sipp, GRAMMY nominees Southern Avenue, and more.

Honoring The Blues' Past

Among the other events that made up BMA week was the Blues Hall of Fame Induction ceremony, held on May 8 at Memphis' Cannon Center for the Performing Arts before a crowd of about 200, including past inductees Bobby Rush and Taj Mahal. Hosted by artists Gaye Adegbalola (Saffire — the Uppity Blues Women), GRAMMY winner Dom Flemons (Carolina Chocolate Drops), and veteran blues radio deejay Bill Wax, the observance saw the induction of seven artists, five blues singles, one album, a book, and a blues academic into the Hall of Fame.

Highlights from the evening included Alligator Records head Bruce Iglauer's humor-filled induction of Chicago house stompers Lil' Ed & the Blues Imperials in the performers category; the heartfelt introduction of the late folk singer Odetta by her friend Maria Muldaur and the emotional acceptance by Odetta's daughter, Michelle Esrick; and former National Endowment for the Humanities chairman William R. Ferris, inducted as a non-performer, delivering a circuitous-but-engrossing recounting of his life documenting blues music and culture.

Bringing The Blues To Life 

Taj Mahal stands in front of the exhibit featuring his own hologram. | Photo: Kimberly Horton

One of the non-award related highlights of the week was the opening of a new exhibit at the Blues Foundation's Blues Hall of Fame, also on May 8, which introduced a high-tech element to the down-home genre. Musician Taj Mahal was on hand the day before for the unveiling of a cutting-edge AI-powered hologram of himself that acts as a virtual tour guide for the Half of Fame, allowing visitors to interact with the blues great. 

This hologram, only the second exhibit of its kind in America (the first is in the Folk Americana Roots Hall of Fame in Boston), uses Holobox, a new technology from Holoconnects, to render a life-like image that can answer questions, talk about exhibits, and play instruments. Taj Mahal, who had to sit and talk for several hours for the technology to scan his likeness and voice, is the first artist to receive the virtual treatment from the Blues Foundation. Bobby Rush and Keb' Mo' are expected to be added later.

Explore the full list of 2024 BMA winners below to celebrate the artists keeping the blues alive and discover who took home the top honors this year. 

2024 BMA Winners

B.B. King Entertainer of the Year

Bobby Rush

Album of the Year

Live In London, Christone "Kingfish" Ingram

Band of the Year

Nick Moss Band

Song of the Year

"What Kind Of Fool," written by Ruthie Foster, Hadden Sayers & Scottie Miller

Best Emerging Artist Album

The Right Man, D.K. Harrell

Acoustic Blues Album

Raw Blues 1, Doug MacLeod

Blues Rock Album

Blood Brothers, Mike Zito/ Albert Castiglia

Contemporary Blues Album

Live In London, Christone "Kingfish" Ingram

Soul Blues Album

All My Love For You, Bobby Rush

Traditional Blues Album

Teardrops for Magic Slim, John Primer

Acoustic Blues Artist

Keb' Mo'

Blues Rock Artist

Mike Zito

Contemporary Blues Female Artist

Danielle Nicole

Contemporary Blues Male Artist

Christone "Kingfish" Ingram

Soul Blues Female Artist

Annika Chambers

Soul Blues Male Artist

John Nemeth

Traditional Blues Female Artist (Koko Taylor Award)

Sue Foley

Traditional Blues Male Artist

John Primer

Instrumentalist – Bass

Bob Stroger

Instrumentalist – Drums

Kenny "Beedy Eyes" Smith

Instrumentalist – Guitarist

Christone "Kingfish" Ingram

Instrumentalist – Harmonica

Jason Ricci

Instrumentalist – Horn

Vanessa Collier

Instrumentalist – Piano (Pinetop Perkins Award)

Kenny "Blues Boss" Wayne

Instrumentalist – Vocals

Ruthie Foster

Washington D.C. Chapter Dinner & Conversation Answers "Can We Have Rhythm Without the Blues?"

Chief Keef fans have been awaiting a sequel to his influential mixtape Almighty So since he released it in 2013. The project came out in the midst of a magnificent and experimental run for Keef, when he was changing his style seemingly at will from Almighty's almost avant-garde soundscapes to woozy, autotuned melodies (Bang Pt. 2) to stoic street tales (Back From the Dead).

Keef, now 28, has been well aware of the anticipation for a follow-up to Almighty So, teasing the project since 2019. Five years later, it's finally here — but it might not quite be what fans were expecting.

In keeping with Keef's mercurial and exploratory artistic nature, Almighty So 2 has very little to do with its predecessor, save that comedian Michael Blackson does skits on both. In fact, Keef tells GRAMMY.com that the title of the project does not mean that he views it as a sequel to Almighty So.

"There's no connection at all," he asserts. Almighty So is his nickname, and one of his many alter egos; it stems from "Sosa," the Scarface-inspired nickname he's been using since the beginning of his career. The title, he says, "is not just a project that I dropped years ago. It's me. I'm still almighty."

Almighty So 2, released May 10, is indeed very different. It boasts a Keef who is nearly free of vocal doublings and ad libs, ready to let his voice clearly be heard on a wide range of subjects, including some introspective and emotional looks at himself, going all the way back to his childhood.

Several days before the project's release, GRAMMY.com caught up with Keef while he was at home in Los Angeles. Below, the Chicago-born rapper breaks down the album's lyrics and music, its most surprising guest appearance, how he views his own legacy, and his return to his hometown for the first time in over a decade.

This conversation has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

You've been talking about this record since 2019, and originally you were saying it's going to have a lot of melody. The album I heard is very different from that. Can you tell me how and why the vision changed?

I just wanted to do something I never did. A couple of songs is stuff that you probably would never hear me do.

What's different about those songs?

Just more rapping about real things instead of flexing or talking about cars and weed. I'm rapping about real stuff in my life — in life, period.

"Believe" is like that. 

Oh yeah, "Believe," I forgot about that. You really know these songs. Okay, that's dope.

I heard that song as being about wanting and trying to change. Can you tell me about writing that and deciding to open up a little bit?

When I was making that beat, it gave me that feeling of, let some stuff out. That's all.

There's a line on there that really grabbed me. You're talking about growing up and you say you had to be an "evil kid." The word "evil" really struck me. What do you mean by
"evil"?

Because I was always smart — brilliant, intelligent. My circumstances had to be different, though. There wasn't a way for me to really show…I had to do the streets thing. I had to be a gangbanger. I had to grow up doing all that stuff instead of my potential that I know that I have, that I'm using doing all this stuff like designing. I can do everything. Really, literally. I probably could fly a plane, too.

Before I get into my ideas about it, what's different about your rapping on this album?

I feel like I'm just old. I'm 28, I'm finna be 29 now, man. I'm not the same young boy that grew up in Chicago on 54th and 61st. I guess you can call it growth.

I still got some stuff on there like the regular Sosa — the turn up, the fight-in-the-club or whatever you want to call it. Jump around, mosh pit music. I still got that. 

I was thinking more about just the sound of your rapping. There was almost no doubling, almost no ad libs. Your voice is very clear. Can you tell me about that creative decision?

I haven't been doubling like that. I don't know why I stopped it. You're right, I wanted to be more clear. 

Once I do a song, if I didn't do the ad libs, it must have not needed ad libs. When I do ad libs, it's like, I gotta do these ad libs. And if a song doesn't have ad libs on it, probably I can't really say the stuff that I want to say on the ad libs, or I didn't know how to put it. So I just said, scratch the ad libs and it's good like that. It's perfect. You don't need it, or the doubles. 

You have two songs on this record, "Runner" and "1,2,3," where you do that Dipset thing of talking back to the vocal sample. Why'd you do that?

I grew up on Juelz [Santana] and Cam'ron and Jim Jones. On 61st, we was a clique called Dipset, which comes from them. That's where I come from, so that's what I know. I guess I'm still living that right there.

Tell me about making beats for this album. There was some sampling in there, which is something you haven't done too much of.

I started sampling in probably 2019, 2020, or something like that. A lot of my producer friends, even my rapper friends, be like, "I love the way you sample. Damn, how do you sample like that?" Even though sometimes, I'll just let a sample play — it won't even be a chopped-up sample. 

If you get a beat from someone else, do you go in and add stuff to it?

Yeah. I can't take a beat and not put my stuff on it. Because it might be a dope beat, but if I feel like it need a couple more snares or a snare roll or some extra high hats or a bridge, I'll add my stuff in.

The album has some introspective lyrics, but it's also very funny.

I want to have some fun with it. A lot of people just drop projects and be regular degular. I wanted to do different. 

Like one song on the album, it takes four minutes to come on. It's just a beat and there's a skit playing of a dude in heaven talking. It's for car rides or trips. I don't know, I just wanted to do something different than what's regularly done all the time.

What's the connection between this album and the first Almighty So? Why call it Almighty So 2?

There's no connection at all. It's just, Almighty So, that's me. It's not just a project that I dropped years ago — it's me. I'm still Almighty So. I might not call myself that all the time, but it's forever me because when I did come out, it's something that I made and I stuck with it. 

It's just a name that everybody know. It's going to go down in the books. Forever, I'm Almighty So. I just had to do a number two, as in growth. It's the growth version of me.

I'm trying to display that I'm not the same 16, 17, 18-year-old that was running around Chicago with a gun on his hip. I'm far away in Los Angeles, California in a big, stupid-ass house with nine bathrooms and eight bedrooms. I got 12 cars outside my house, and they all mine. I don't have to have that gun on my hip. I ain't gotta watch my back all the time. 

I'm not the same. I'm a different guy. I feel like I'm better now than I ever was. I'm a better individual: the way I think, the way I talk. I'm more talkative now. At first, I wasn't even f—ing talking, bro. At first, you couldn't get me to say s— but a couple words.

When was the last time you listened to the first Almighty So?

I don't listen to that thing. Everybody else around me do. From friends to fans, everybody still listen to it, but I don't listen to it, barely ever. Every blue moon, I might end up playing it somehow. Because don't forget, I was listening to that s— nonstop when I made it. And I had to perform a lot of it too. So I know it by heart. I don't need to listen to it.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Lyrical Lemonade Summer Smash (@thesummersmash)

You have your first performance in Chicago in many years coming up at the Lyrical Lemonade Summer Smash in June. How are you feeling about it?

It's been a while, man. I ain't gonna lie, it's gonna be like I'm a tourist when I go there. 

It's been a long, long time. It's been like 11, 12 years since I touched the pavement in Chicago, or Illinois, period. I'm ready. I know it's going to be a big thing. A lot of new people probably think I'm a ghost. There probably be teachers like, "Yeah, he went to this school," [and the students will be like,] "No, no, he ain't real." 

So a lot of people are going to be excited, just knowing I'm from there and I ain't been there in so long. People that's not in even Chicago — all them surrounding cities gonna show up [too], because Sosa has not been home. And they know it's gonna be big.

Given what happened back in 2015, when the cops shut down your hologram's concert, are you worried that the authorities will be looking for an excuse to shut it down?

Hopefully they won't shut it down. I ain't been there in 11 years. I ain't done nothing to no-motherf—ing-body, man. I ain't in no cases, no RICOs, no murders, none of that s—. Leave me the f— alone, man. 

I've been chilling, making clothes and making music. Don't shut me down. And even if they did, I don't care. I'm going home. Back to L.A. I go. At least y'all know that I tried.

From the beginning of your career, you've had this association with the word "turbulence." You use Turbo as an alter ego.

[Laughs] How do you know all this? This is some Nardwuar s— right now, man.

When did that start? Do you remember the first time you were like, "Oh, that word, that's me?"

You said, when did it start? It's my alter egos I just make in my damn head. That's all. I'm versatile, so I never make the same sounding s—. Every song you listen to of mine, it's not going to be like, "That sounds like the last one I just played."  

I just got my alter egos, and I just make names. And then Turbulence, Turbo, that just came with one of my alter egos from 2017. Every other year I got a new name and a new ego.

Lately I haven't done it, though. I've been chilling, on some grown man ish. I feel like [making alter egos is] more the young Sosa. Like I said, this was in 2017 when I made that name. I haven't really been doing it lately. No new aliases.

You talked earlier about designing clothes and doing other creative stuff. When you're making art or graphics, or designing clothes, what feels the same as making music to you, and what feels different?

It's the exact same thing. S—, just like I make a beat, making a shirt takes the same creativity. It's just in a different form. Instead of melodies, you're using pictures and s—. You're drawing stuff. Instead of drawing that melody in FL Studio, you're drawing an angel for a shirt.

It's the exact same thing. Even the colors. The colors are like the EQ on the beat or on the song — it brings out the light in the stuff. 

So yeah, it's actually the same thing to me. And I've been doing this same s—. All the clothing, the beats, I've been doing the exact same thing that I'm doing now since 2008. How many years is that? That's a long time.

Like the Glory Boys logo: I made that logo in late 2009. I was what, 13, 14? I was doing this s— since I was 10, 11. It started when my momma bought me a computer. She bought me a computer when I was like 6. And then I was doing unbelievable things, unimaginable things. 

When I was doing that, I knew that this is my calling. Like, you real good with computers, if you're not good with nothing else. Anything with a screen, I could do it my sleep. If I show you the s— I can do, you'd be like, what in the f—? I'm talking coding — I can code some s— up. Your mind would be blown.

One of the things that does connect this album to the first Almighty So is you have Michael Blackson come back. Why?

Because he was on the first one. I'm just like, I got a skit or two for him. I got a couple of different skits from a couple different people. I got Fabo from D4L on there. He's on "Almighty" the song, talking. I got Donterio from my city, a funny dude I mess with. He be like, "On baby, on baby" — he famous for saying that. 

I got Michael Blackson. I wanted to make it fun and funny, so it ain't just like you're riding around listening to regular music. I wanted to make it a type of movie, but just in the music form. 

One of the guest appearances that really got my attention was Tierra Whack. I thought she was great.

Yeah, me and Tierra, we're real friends and we talk. And I love the way she do everything, so I had to put her on my s—, man. Just on some random s— — like, they won't expect no damn Tierra Whack, you know? So I had to do that. And I got my little weird ways, I'll tell you that.

I wouldn't have guessed she would be on this album.

Yeah, I know you wouldn't. Nobody would. Chief Keef and Tierra Whack? How and where and when? I wanted her to do something different than what she do. I was like, "I got this song I want you to do, but it ain't nothing like you always do. It's different." And she's like, "Hell yeah, come on, let's do it." That's my dog, for real for real.

A lot of critics talk about how influential you are. Are you aware of people saying that stuff about you?

Everywhere! If I had 500 M's every time [I heard that], I'd be Jeff Bezos. The f—? I think I'd probably be bigger. I would be more rich!

I be hearing that a lot, though, man. I be tired of hearing that s—. I be like, we know. Me, you, and God know that. It's okay. Let people do what they do, man. I was a big fan of Gucci [Mane] and Lil Wayne. Still am. So if I got people who love me like that, s—, man. 

I used to get mad about it, but I don't give a f—. I'm a big fan of those two boys I just said. Even to this day, we still ride around listening to the old Gucci. If you get in our car and we on tour, all you going to hear is Gucci Mane from 2006, 7, 8, and 9, 2010, 2011. And we still even sometimes take our raps [from that]. The old Lil Wayne, I still even rap like that. If you listen to "Jesus," I got his flow — some Lil Wayne, the old Wayne, inspiration. So I guess I inspire, the way they inspire me.

Are you still determined to change your style frequently? That used to be a thing about you: every year you'd have a whole new approach to music.

You hip, bro. You smart as hell, I ain't gonna lie. That's why I'm talking to you like I am. But anyway, you're right, I don't necessarily. 

How I am, though, I never do the same s—, like I told you. You'll never say, "This sounds exactly the same as the other one." I probably got, like, two songs [that sound alike], and that's just if I'm messing with the same producer. 

So I can't say that every year I take that approach. But I guess every day I take that approach, or any time I pick up the damn microphone. I'm just trying to think, I want to do something different, or at least try.

Do you think of yourself primarily as a rapper? A producer? A person who's good with computers?

What I say is I got angles like Kurt. You know Kurt Angle? Jack of all trades. 

Call me Jack, don't call me Sosa. I guess I got a new alias today — we made one.

50 Artists Who Changed Rap: Jay-Z, The Notorious B.I.G., Dr. Dre, Nicki Minaj, Kendrick Lamar, Eminem & More

It's an odd time for a new Sublime with Rome album to come out — and Rome Ramirez would almost certainly agree. The joyous, complicated, and tragic story of Sublime took a happy turn earlier this year, when Sublime’s original bassist, Eric Wilson, and drummer, Bud Gaugh, reactivated the band with late frontman Bradley Nowell’s son, Jakob, in the driver’s seat.

This overlaps, however, with Ramirez wrapping up his duties as the frontman of Sublime with Rome. He’s been doing this since 2009, and made four albums with them: 2011’s Yours Truly, 2015’s Sirens, 2019’s Blessings, and 2024’s Sublime with Rome, out now. As the reconstituted Sublime soldier on, Sublime with Rome are performing their final dates through the summer — despite having no original members of Sublime in the band anymore, as Gaugh departed in 2011 and Wilson left in February.

Why would there be a Sublimeless Sublime with Rome? In short, because they had booked these dates before Wilson left, and before news of the new Sublime broke. And, perhaps more importantly to Ramirez, because he aims to end on a high note for his heroes and their fans.

"I feel like we're in this coexistence together," Ramirez tells GRAMMY.com. "And just as long as everything remains respectful to the fans, I'm in and I want to do right by them — because they're the ones that have kept this whole thing afloat."

As Sublime roars back with Jakob, don’t let Sublime with Rome’s last album fall between the cracks. It’s a more-than-worthy sendoff for a band that bridged the gap and upheld the band’s legacy, while exploring some interesting creative offshoots via Ramirez’s songwriting.

Indeed, bittersweet highlights of Sublime with Rome, like "Holiday" and "Love is Dangerous," don’t feel like a setting sun, but a rising one. And with Jakob now at the helm, Sublime’s afterlife will continue to carry on the band's legacy in a beautiful way.

Just before Sublime with Rome’s release, Ramirez chatted with GRAMMY.com about the band’s final chapter, and addressed some potential misconceptions about the next iteration of Sublime.

This interview was drawn from three conversations, and has been edited for clarity.

How does a Sublime with Rome song come to be, and how did that apply here?

It usually starts with an idea for a guitar or a really cool sample. I would just start writing an idea for an acoustic and bring it into the studio. Once in the studio with the band, we are able to run it a couple of times and see what direction we want to take the production.

When recording, we tend to run the song a few passes hopefully locking down the rhythm tracks and a rough vocal. After that, we begin overdubs. Lastly I do the final vocals at home in the comfort of my own studio. It allows me to really dial in the lyrics and harmonies.

We really worked on a lot of this music on the tour while on the road for the last two summer tours. Studios in random towns, make-shift studios in dressing rooms, and on the tour bus. We did the thing. It was definitely a community effort, and I'm so grateful for everyone to have lent their hand in the making of this album.

This album marks the end of an era — an emotional conclusion to my journey with Sublime. But I'm hopeful that through the music, you'll find moments of peace and connection, as I did while creating it.

How does Sublime with Rome compare to previous Sublime with Rome albums, or represent an evolution in the band’s sound?

This album feels like a great blend of new and old. To me, It feels very natural and not forced as well. Lyrically, on some of the songs, I really reflect on this whole journey and what our future could be like.

I knew this was the last record when making it. There is something very special about knowing the end is near. In life we don’t always have that luxury of knowing something is coming to end, so when you do you can be much more intentional.

Which tracks on Sublime with Rome are especially meaningful to you, and why?

"Holiday." It’s a bit coded. But the truth is in there. Also, there was a sample from Manu Chao, but they wanted too much publishing and cash, so I pulled it out and made my own loop instead. I will always think of that.

**How does it feel to be winding this journey down after 15 years?**

It's definitely a really beautiful thing, because for me, it's the natural evolution of what is supposed to happen with this band. We've been doing this for so long now, and we've been blessed to travel all over the world and play the greatest venues. I've got to meet so many fans that are just like-minded — like myself, as Sublime fans — and we've accomplished so much.

I think it's the perfect timing to be winding this down. I've been working on this [solo] music that I put together in the pandemic, and I wanted to focus on this now and really give it that energy and that time that I've pretty much just given to Sublime with Rome in the last 15 years, aside from producing for other artists.

I felt like now it would be a good time for me to focus my energies on that. And right around the time, Jakob wanted to step up and take over for his dad's band, which is absolutely his birthright. So, I think it's well-timed now for everyone.

What’s your interpretation of how Sublime with Rome’s end dovetailed with Sublime’s rebirth?

The truth of the matter is, we were going to wind this down so I could focus on my solo efforts. We assumed that the outfit would continue because Sublime is still very relevant in today's world. People love Sublime; they're still discovering Sublime.

The only part that came just a little out of nowhere: me and my crew found out when the world found out — via the Internet, via social media posts — that they were going to be putting the band together with Jakob singing and playing guitar. And it really caught us off guard because we had a lot of shows that we had already pre-scheduled for 2024. [GRAMMY.com reached out to the Sublime camp for comment, but they could not be reached.]

Was this before or after Eric left Sublime with Rome?

This was before. Eric suffered some really serious medical things last year, and then on the summer tour, he went into another issue. Everything really came to the forefront, where it was like, OK, maybe now is the perfect time to start winding this down — so Eric can focus on his health, and I can use the time to focus on this music that I've been making.

We had, I'd say, a good majority of the shows that we have now already pre-scheduled, along with the tour and an album. When he left, that's the part that hurt me — the fact that we had all of these things that we had set up for our fans and we were promoting and telling them about.

I understand they got the Coachella offer, so that was a really enticing move. But I would've really loved to have set it up in a much more graceful type of way that made sense and paid respect to the lineage — me bringing the guys up on stage, then walking off, and then Eric jamming with Bud and Jakob. Something like that would've been really rad.

But instead, I found out with the world. That was the only disheartening part about the situation. But everything happens for a reason, and I do believe that they will find their success. And it's a beautiful thing that Jakob's doing, taking over for his dad's band. I think it's awesome.

Was there any bad blood?

No, no. We had just got off tour. We were in the studio making a record. There was no big, like, "F— you. No, f— you."

We all sat down in the dressing room. I think it was the second or the third night before the tour ended, and Eric was in pretty rough shape. And it was a moment of reflection for all of us.

We talked about the future and about laying low, and we were going to go back in and finishing up some of the last minute touch-ups on the record that we needed to do. And we just pushed aside all that so Eric [could] get home and get some rest and some help.

During that time, that's when we found out everything along with the world. But there was no huge falling out. There was no storming off, no walking off stage, "I'm never talking to you again," nothing like that.

You and Jakob are certainly coming at the project from two different angles.

They asked me to sing for the band coming from the place of being a giant fan. But for Jakob, that's his dad that he lost.

I don't want to put words in his mouth, but from what I assume, these stories — they're still connected to the music, and it's probably a really painful type of thing to be dealing with. And then seeing an iteration of the band that his dad's former band members put together and me singing, I'm sure it may have just been really confusing and painful for him.

The part that I can feel really good about is that over the course of these years, they have made so much money, and so many resources have come to the brand, and eyes, that I just feel so grateful to be a part of that.

Because I like to think, in some weird way, that — I hope — Bradley's stoked on all this. That his music was able to still live on and be able to provide a living for his wife and his son while Jakob was growing up and getting ready to take over his dad's band.

Obviously, the Sublime catalog is successful in and of itself, but us touring — one of the big things was when we started the band, Eric and Bud made sure that they wanted to pay Brad's wife and his son. And obviously that's the whole MO. When we first put the project together, that was a big thing. And we continued to do that over 15 years.

Heck, tonight I have a show, and he's going to get a paycheck for this one too, as he will be moving forward until the tour's done. Because this is Sublime; this is his dad's band. I'm just an employee of the band, but very grateful for it.

Jakob has expressed some criticism of Sublime with Rome’s history of recording new material with a new frontman. But it wasn’t only your decision; it was Eric and Bud’s, too.

Well, yeah. They came to me [about starting Sublime with Rome]. I was living homeless in my van, just playing shows on the beach, wherever I could. And they came to me with this wonderful opportunity — my favorite band. When they wanted to write music, I said, "Heck yeah," because that just sounded fun. It sounded rad.

I still kind of live by that same energy. And I know it can be easy to paint me as the villain in the situation, I guess.

But going back to what I said, we come from different places where I'm just a giant Sublime fan, and that's why I think they picked me to want to get back together. And you'll never be able to take that away from me — because I love this band and I love the music, and no matter what happens, I'll always love Brad, Bud, and Eric.

Sublime will always be a part of my life, and I'm proud of that. And I'm proud of whatever they wanted to do, whether it was to use the name or put new music out, or not use the name or go and play with someone else. That's awesome. Continue along with Sublime. Jakob can pull the license tomorrow if he wants, but there's no need. We were winding down anyway.

How would you summarize what's special about them? Not Sublime with Rome, not Sublime with Jakob — Brad, Bud and Eric.

Dude, to me, the magic of them was always just taking the best parts of music and putting them all together in an album and sometimes in one song. And that just always blew my mind.

And then, the icing on top of that was Brad's voice; there was just f—king nothing in this world like it. Like butter — sweet but dirty.

Tonight, I want to listen to a Sublime song before I go on, just so I can try and sound a little closer and pay a little more homage to Brad. Because that's why I got into this whole thing. I love those guys. I just want to be able to jam it and bring it to the fans.

Sublime's Jakob Nowell On Leading His Father's Legendary Band & What To Expect At Coachella

GRAMMY winner Serj Tankian is an accidental rockstar. 

When he was 7 years old, his Armenian family fled the Lebanese Civil War and relocated to L.A. to start life anew. He dealt with some childhood bullying, then because he had a better grasp of English, he became an unintended legal aide to his father when his former business partner sued him. The singer’s childhood was defined by adult matters, and he did not discover an interest in music until he acquired a Casio keyboard at age 19.

By the time he was 24, Tankian ran a successful software company, but then he met younger guitarist Daron Malakian, and their musical union birthed System Of A Down with bassist Shavo Odadjian and drummer John Dolmayan. The heavy metal band had an incredibly successful five-album run between 1998 and 2005, andbecame international superstars with their 2001 sophomore album, Toxicity. That album sold 5 million copies domestically and lead single "Chop Suey!" was nominated for a GRAMMY for Best Metal Performance; a year later "Aerials" was nominated for Best Hard Rock Performance. In 2006, the group took home the golden gramophone for Best Hard Rock Performance for "B.Y.O.B."

System’s music has not been the only driving force in Tankian’s life. Throughout his career, he has merged activism with art, as explored in his 2020 documentary Truth To Power. He has been outspoken on many issues — particularly that of the recognition of the Armenian Genocide, which to this day Turkey still has not done. He's proud of his heritage. He's proud of his music. And he has always lived life on his own terms.

"I was an activist before becoming an artist," Tankian tells GRAMMY.com "That and making a positive impact on the world was a part of what the band did."

Tankian originally intended his new book, Down With The System: A Memoir (Of Sorts), to be a philosophical tome about the intersection of justice and spirituality. And while he does hit those notes, the book could also be considered a life manual. Tankian shares his life story and musical odyssey, and we get the wisdom and insight of someone who never really planned for the life that he has had. The book arrives on May 17, and Tankian will do a short promotional book tour.

"Everything's written with complete brutal honesty, but love and compassion and understanding and self-responsibility throughout the situation," Tankian says.

Tankian applies that frankness to discussing his bandmates, with whom he hasn’t always seen eye to eye. System went on hiatus in 2006, returning intermittently to tour and play select festivals, including last month’s Sick New World Festival in Las Vegas. But they have released only two new songs in the last 18 years. 

Members of System have done other projects, including AcHoZeN, These Grey Men, and Daron Malakian and Scars On Broadway, who have released two albums. Meanwhile, Tankian has embarked on numerous solo endeavors. His projects include orchestral and acid jazz work, as well as a rock musical with Tony-winning playwright and lyricist Steven Sater called "Prometheus Bound." 

The singer and composer sat down with GRAMMY.com to discuss the compelling life story he chronicles in Down With The System. Tankian’s latest solo song "A.F. Day" hits on May 17, and his new solo Foundations EP arrives later this year featuring mostly archival songs pulled from the vaults with a few tweaks made. 

This conversation has been edited for clarity.

You're almost contrarian in a lot of ways, and you've been successful because of it. You’ve even made decisions that many people would not have, prioritizing principles over money.

I think it's worked to my benefit at the chagrin of my band members, in some ways. I should say our benefit.

I never came from the "school of rock," if you will, in my teens. The bridge to music was a very long battle for me. Whereas for young people, their parents get them a drum and they start playing at seven or eight years old. They know that's what they want to do their whole life, they want to be on stage. I never even thought of [the] stage. Even when I played music, I never thought of performance. I never thought of doing press. I never thought of making videos. I never thought of writing publicity things, quotes or whatever. So for me, the whole industry became an interesting new industry, among many that I was into.

You had a very intense childhood. Do you think that the Dada-esque and Frank Zappa-ish humor that you've brought into a lot of music, especially System, is your way of tapping into and releasing things that didn’t come out in your childhood?

That's spot on. But it's also my dad; he's a very humorous guy, and he always cracks jokes and lightens the situation. His mom, my grandmother, was like that, too. They're just really light-hearted people. On my mom's side they're serious as hell, but in a good way — very strong gravitas, good morals, good intentions. 

Maybe there is an aspect of lost childhood lived with lightness of heart. You meet a comic or someone that impresses you with their lightness of being, and you realize that you're taking life too seriously. You bring that at the back of your head: I need to integrate this everyday. I need to crack more jokes. I need to say stupid s—. Because if you take life seriously, you're doomed, right? We know that. It's not worth it.

You've had to be a politician most of your life — with your friends, with family, with the band, with your activism. And yet, there's a moment you describe in the book where you're sitting on a tour bus tripping on shrooms, and the world is just rolling by. At the same time that you're this leader, you're also a passenger. It seems like you've really had to play things on the fly.

I feel like these strange, contrarian things are always happening to me; like these strange tests where I have to make a moral decision, even when you're not expecting it. 

Years ago, I signed a band called Fair to Midland [to his Serjical Strike Records label], and I tell the story about Ahmet Ertegun who founded Atlantic Records. It put me in this really strange conundrum where I happen to meet Ahmet Ertegun, and I realized that this guy has helped funnel money into campaigns to deny the Armenian Genocide in the United States of America, like think tanks, and congressional committees. Now I have to face this and deal with it properly, and it's not really easy. Just when you're not expecting it, you're faced with these things, and that's why I wrote about them because it's those stories that really, really help shape [you].

It's very easy as an artist to keep a big audience, to not give a f—, and to cater to the many. It's very difficult to make rational, moral decisions based on what you truly believe, and possibly piss off half your base. I see many entertainers that are amazing musicians around me that will never speak truth to power or anything. They won't speak about any political issues, and that's fine. I think making music for the sake of music itself is also culturally relevant.

I was an activist before becoming an artist; I can't separate one from the other. The artists that I have treasured — including Frank Zappa, Bob Marley, John Lennon — are ones that were honest with themselves and the world around them. To them, that honesty and that truth was more important than someone liking them and their music.

Has your experience with transcendental meditation helped you compose more contemplative works, like your orchestral suites 'Orca' and 'Invocations?'

With Orca, I remember I was writing my second solo record at the time for Warner which came out as Imperfect Harmonies. I had a conversation earlier with my friend, David Farrier, who is a New Zealand journalist and filmmaker now. I said, "These other tracks I can't even sing on. They're long and orchestral." And he goes, "I think you're writing your first symphony." 

With Invocations, I was just writing, and I don't know how involved meditation would be involved in those moments, but the music is so moody with Invocations that there is that contemplative, ambient being. You're hearing long, drawn-out phrases. The inspiration behind Invocations was, How do I couple voices that never belonged with each other? How I do have a tenor, an alto, a world singer, and a death metal singer? It's like putting in white noise with a beautiful violin playing. So that idea made me write Invocations and put the whole project together.

Your new song "A.F. Day" is much more aggressive and punk rock. System has a punkish mentality in some songs.

It does. That song would have actually been great with System and was written very early on, I don't even know when. I'm actually wondering why that was never even a System song. Just raw, punk rock, balls to the walls, and my voice in it is so old. I kept my original demo voice because my voice has changed over 25 [or] 30 years. I can't sing like that, so I kept it. 

The book allowed me a record retrospective look at my life, including my musical life. And in a way the Foundations EP mirrors that with certain songs from 25 years ago, a song from 15 years ago, that kind of a thing that I put together in this small EP collection.

September 2001 and a few months after that had a very big impact on you. A week prior to 9/11, there was the unintended riot due to the police shutting down an unexpectedly overcrowded, free outdoor show in Hollywood. There were also people misunderstanding the meaning of "Chop Suey!", and then Howard Stern grilled you about your political views and questioned your love for America after you wrote the essay "Understanding Oil." It seems like that was when you realized you didn't want to play the game that others want you to. 

I don't recommend it for everyone. If you're trying to make music, saying things that will piss off millions of people will probably not work well for your career. But it somehow worked for me. 

I was more interested in the truth, ultimately, than my own career or our music. The guys would always be like,"You're putting everything above the band, and the band should be more important." I would always deny it, because obviously I love my band. It's a part of who I am, and I write some of those songs. But in a way, I did because I was an activist before becoming an artist. That and making a positive impact on the world was a part of what the band did. If I couldn't do it in a strong way with my words, whether it's "Understanding Oil," the essay I wrote on Sept. 12, or our music for that matter or our lyrics, then what's the f—ing point?

[After] releasing Toxicity, those couple of years were probably the most stressful times in my life. And it's not because of stardom, or people loving the band, or what people go through or the changes that happened with the band. F— all that. I was f—ing scared. 

There was a lot of s— going on, from the riots when we had that free show, to 9/11 and the band's music being basically banned by Clear Channel along with a lot of music. Then from there on other threads, a few years later having to do with Turkish intelligence [shadowing Serj], and many other things having to do with congressional people like Dennis Hastert [who killed off a proposed resolution to recognize the Armenian genocide]. My career has been this junction of music, politics, all sorts of crazy s—. It's just mayhem in some ways… and I become a recluse. And I say, Why can't I just play music?

One of the reasons I love [film] scoring is because I'm shutting the f— up and singing, literally. I sit down with the director, I sit down with the producer, we figure out the tone of a film or a TV series. And I work on it mostly by myself, and back and forth, and we finish this thing. You're in the background. I f—ing love it. Because when I'm in the foreground, I'm a disrupter, whether I like it or not.

Have you met fans from over the years even more recently that were inspired by your art and your activism? Have you found people that have been motivated to exploring their own causes?

We get a lot of System people coming up and saying that "I didn't know about the Armenian genocide. Because of you, we learned a lot more." 

But there's also that element of becoming an activist and creating a spark for someone to fight their own injustice. I think that is huge. I think that's one of the most important function of the arts — just being an entertainer is not good enough.

On New Album 'Banished By Sin,' Deicide Recapture Their Death Metal Fire