The Onion once ran an article headlined "Pitchfork Gives Music 6.8." It's a gag, but it raises a compelling question: Thousands of years into its existence, after an astronomical number of permutations, is music still weirdly underrated? 

While many simply hear it as a "soundtrack to our lives," others see it as a lifestyle unto itself. And for her part, the jazz singer Nnenna Freelon takes it a step further: Songs are like living, breathing people you meet, fall in love with, fight and grow old with. And like trusted friends, they can guide people through unimaginable sorrow.

"People have relationships with them. It’s this co-communication," the five-time GRAMMY nominee tells GRAMMY.com. "This mysterious, magical thing that happens when you enter into the circle of a song. It's kind of something you can't exactly describe, and in the world of grief, I think there's great untapped potential for healing around music."

How does Freelon know this to be true? She's lived it. After her husband died of the degenerative, cureless disease ALS in 2019, Freelon turned to songs—endlessly covered ones, like "Moon River," "Time After Time" and "Come Rain or Come Shine," that nonetheless revealed fresh meaning. 

She mixed those with originals and reimaginings of '70s hits by artists like Marvin Gaye and Jim Croce to make Time Traveler, an inventory of Freelon's memory bank that came out May 21. (This summer, Freelon also launched her "Great Grief" podcast, a compendium of music and stories about grief and loss.) 

Freelon sees Time Traveler as a portal for the listener’s memories—especially of those no longer on the planet. "I would say to just enter the space with the idea of time traveling in your head," Freelon says. "The title allows you to go where you will." In other words: Come as you are, clear your head and behold music's still-undersung facility for psychic transportation and emotional restoration.

Nnenna Freelon gave GRAMMY.com a Zoom call to discuss the making of Time Traveler, why songs have the integrity of human beings and how reckoning with sorrow is like repotting and propagating houseplants.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

I think one underdiscussed thing about grief is the musical relationships you build with your loved ones and how you can manifest them into the world. Can you talk about that at all?

I think you're right. I think we're sleeping on music in terms of its power to transport us. It actually can take us back to the place where we first heard it—where there's an emotional memory—because the body keeps the score. That's the truth. All your trauma, all your joy, all your living—your body records it and it becomes your music. It becomes your composition. 

We as musicians relate to the world with our ears and our heart. We hear you before we see you. We hear you coming! Sometimes, people even sort of project their vibration, musically—the good and the not-so-good. You know, I think songs themselves have spirits. I'm a jazz singer, right? So, I'm delving into the American Songbook, right? These are not songs that I wrote. They're not songs that even necessarily belong to my time. They were written in the '40s, written in the '30s. 

My philosophy is that when you meet a song, you learn it. That's the honest and humble thing to do. You learn it as it was written. And then you ask for permission to change it. And if it says "No," you'd better leave it alone! You'd better sing it straight! And the songs themselves also have a world that they've created in the culture because others have sung them before you got there.

So, people have relationships with them. And I know this is true because people come to me and spill out all this story around a song I sang that is not even anything I did. It's this co-communication, this mysterious, magical thing that happens when you enter into the circle of a song. It's kind of something you can't exactly describe, and in the world of grief, I think there's great untapped potential for healing around music.

Even when I hear a standard I've heard a million times, it's doing its spiritual work in the present. My relationship with it is still developing.

It's an ongoing, real-time evolution. And then there are songs that appear for a certain time and they disappear and never reappear. "Whatever happened to... blank?" And sometimes, they only appear for you. They're your personal [entity] and everybody else is like, "No, I've never heard of that. I don't know that one." So, I think right there in that observation is the possibility of tapping into it in a real, intentional way for connection with each other.

Certain songs are elastic as far as time, space and perception go. Plus, they can bring people together.

Honestly, this yickety-yak, everybody a talking head, "This is what I think! That's not true!" and all that? No. Sing a song. Sing a damn song. Because music gets into our spirit in a whole different way—and I don't mean a political song either. If you sing something of beauty, who can resist beauty? Who can resist "I love you, and there's nothing you can do about it?" Who can resist that?

We need to move in those directions that allow us to explore: What is it we can agree about? What is it that we can come together on? I think there's a much wider landscape of that kind of thing than there is this divisive stuff, and there are elements in our society that really want us to be at each other's throats. We're looking at a dichotomy. It's either/or, when the question to ask is "What else is possible?"

This is what I'm screaming: The song can be a bridge. I don't have to agree with you to treat you with respect! Where did this thing come from where, if I don't agree with you, you're the enemy? What is that? It's terrible! What happened to honest discourse and agreeing to disagree? 

When you call someone an enemy, you're actually looking in a mirror. That's a hard concept to deal with because you're like, "Damn, that thing is ugly." That's you, bro! That's you, sister!

I don't think pandemic-era albums will age well, but I believe yours will be an exception. You're responding to the broader sense of quietude, and you picked songs that have perennial value.

I was like: Let me do what I was put on this earth to do. Let me do what my assignment is at this moment, which is to put this baby out in the world and walk away. It's none of my business what happens to this record. I was obedient, even though it hurt. Even though it was painful. Even though it made me face some things about myself that I didn't like. Even though it made me face my loneliness.

I was thinking of going track-by-track and exploring each song through the lens of your grief. But by the same token, I'm thinking "Maybe all the information is embedded in the music. You either get it or you don't." Where does your thinking fall on that?

I would say to just enter the space with the idea of time traveling in your head. That's all. The title allows you to go where you will. If it doesn't pull you into the space of memory, then fine. You go on to the next track. Of course, I came from the world of LPs where the order of the songs was an attempt to tell a story within the project. I still have that in my mind, but it's the backstory. And it's my backstory.

I've done lots of "concept records" in my time. A tribute to a composer. A tribute to an artist. All the songs were written by blah-blah-blah. In this project, I'm wanting to sort of put that down. Put down that idea of it being so rigid and just letting the traveling through time be the concept, if there is one.

Like, "Moon River." You couldn't think of a more standard repertoire piece in the American songbook. There isn't one that has been more recorded. It's the standard of standards. But every time I hear that song, it takes me to someplace that only I can go. I don't know if anyone else can go there. 

"Two drifters off to see the world:" that's my husband and me. "There's such a lot of world to see / We're after the same rainbow's end, waiting 'round the bend:" Everybody gets to die. Everybody. If there can be one unifying fact, that's it. "Waiting 'round the bend / My huckleberry friend." He was a friend; he was a lover; he was a confidante. He was my everything. Forty years! My god.

Even though I loved the song before, I'm in bed with the song now, because it's a comfort to me. I don't care that everybody else in the world did it. It's now mine. I claim it as my anthem love song to my spirit, to my situation, and it brings me joy. That's the only reason.

I don't think you or anyone else is the official spokesperson for grief or mental health. That said, what are your coping strategies?

One thing I'm trying to position myself as with my podcast is the anti-therapist. I don't want to be the therapist. I don't want to be the one who gives you advice. Frankly, I'm still figuring this thing out myself, so I can't really tell you what will work. I can only tell you what I'm doing, and that's that I am container gardening. That's finding containers large, small, medium-sized, decorative, plain, to put your grief in. Spaces that allow you to honor it and honor your beloved.

The small things you do to honor the space this grief is occupying is really important. It could be something as simple as baking a cake intentionally with your loved one in mind and thinking about, when you add the sugar, how sweet they were and how wonderful it was for them to be in your life. Adding the salt for the tears, the baking powder… if you're into cooking, you'll know what I'm talking about. 

I can't boil water without starting a house fire, but as you can see over Zoom, I'm into succulents. I've noticed that when you leave them in the little plastic container from the store, they stall out and look sad, but if you repot them, it doesn't take them long to thrive.

This is what I've figured out, and I haven't even figured it all the way out: When you tend to your grief as in a succulent, after some time, you may need an even bigger pot. Because guess what? Seeds of joy, seeds of expansion, seeds of curiosity start to blossom in that space, and it can no longer be contained.

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For years, Jasmine Cephas Jones never saw herself as a recording artist.

As a teen, she attended multiple meetings with producers, but nothing felt authentic. In her twenties, she went the Broadway route, securing the dual role of Peggy Schuyler and Maria Reynolds in the original cast of Lin-Manuel Miranda's Hamilton. And even after she created her debut EP, Blue Bird, in 2020, Cephas Jones' future was still uncertain; the pandemic happened, and a string of hard moments left her wondering what would be next — and what would become of her music. 

Even so, her creativity was booming. She wrote and recorded an entire album's worth of music alongside seven trusty collaborators, including Blue Bird producer Zach Golden and Samora Pinderhughes, who co-wrote a track on Blue Bird and produced Phoenix. Nearly four years later, that project finally gets to see the light of day: her debut album, fittingly titled Phoenix. 

The 13-track LP started as a story of romance. But as Cephas Jones sat with the songs, she discovered her most fulfilling relationships were found in her family, friends, collaborations, and artwork, offering an entirely new meaning of connection and perseverance. As a result, Phoenix is a patchwork of her life, and every formative moment in her musical upbringing: It's her mother's love of Stevie Wonder's witty lyricism on "Bad Habits," her father's penchant for Prince's genre-bending production on "Fade in the Water," and her years of opera training on "Cali." As Cephas Jones puts it, it "just sounds like me."

Before Phoenix arrived on May 30, Jasmine Cephas Jones sat down with GRAMMY.com to discuss how she grew from the bluebird into the phoenix, and to revisit the moments throughout her career that cultivated into her first full-length studio album.

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What does the title, Phoenix, mean to you?

I wrote this album about three and a half years ago. I rented out an Airbnb, and seven of us worked on it. We made two studios in two different rooms. I remember telling everyone that I wanted a transformation in my sound.

As an artist, everyone goes, "Well, who do you sound like?" Or, "What genre are you?" Musically, I'm just trying to sound like me.

My first EP, Blue Bird, was very melancholy. It has that blue color feeling to it. But with [Phoenix], I wanted it to have a lot of confidence. That was the only thing I said. The music could be love or breakup songs. We can write whatever it is that moves us, but it has to have some confidence in it.

Towards the end of that week-long writing group, I was like, "Wow, I really changed musically." This sounds like it has my stamp on it, but it's like a level up. That's initially why I did it.

Life happened. I went through a lot of really hard moments, and the album shifted. It became a metaphor for what was going on. For a long time, I didn't know how I was going to put out Phoenix since everything changed. I didn't know what the story would be, but in reality, it was all right there in front of me. I'm a person going through a difficult time and coming out stronger. Someone who has grown and learned.

How would you say that growth is represented throughout this album — is it in the songwriting? The visuals?

All of it! It's almost like Shakespeare, where everything is written for you. You know, you don't have to do much with Shakespeare.

I was trying to find answers to how the music represented me for so many years. Like I said, I wrote it three years ago. What am I doing putting it out when I am a completely different person? 

I knew it was the album I've always wanted to make. And honestly, now, some of the songs hit harder or mean something else. It strikes a different chord, but that is what makes music so beautiful. If it's done in the right way, with emotion and passion, it's the type of album you can listen to, no matter what decade you're in. It'll still move you, make you dance, make you cry. I'm excited to perform it and have it out because it's going to be such a great release for me.

A tour, maybe?

Yeah, yeah. In the future for sure.

When you listen to it, it's really important that you hear these incredible musicians. Samora Pinderhughes really goes in on a lot of these tracks. Beautiful outros. We've got horns on some of them.

It's an album that feels alive. I remember thinking how much I would enjoy performing it with the live instruments and a full band. That's what excites me as an artist.

The lead single, "Brighter," features Kevin Garrett. How did that come about? And why did you think that track would be the perfect song to lead the new era?

Kevin was a part of the writing camp that was there for seven days, and "Brighter" was one of my favorite songs off that album. I wanted to create a super funky beat. I got this rimshot that reminds me of some track on D'Angelo's Voodoo. It's got this kind of classic, in-the-pocket, fun moment to it. Musically, aesthetically, it was one of the songs that made my neck pop every time I would listen to it. I wanted to start the era with something that brought me so much joy.

In the music video, I'm on a horse. Then, people's flip phones blow up, and I leave the party. Eventually, I turned into a phoenix. The party represents my old life — I left to come to Los Angeles. Running into the streets and turning into a phoenix is the journey of healing and growth.

Stylistically, the music video for "Brighter" is very similar to your other single, "Baby I Can't Give You Up." Is there a connection between those two songs? Are the women in those music videos the same character?

"Baby I Can't Give You Up" is a love story, but it changed for me.

Listen, you can hear the songs and interpret them any way you want. That's what it's for. But in a music video, you see what it meant to me at that moment. Yes, it did start as a love song, but then it became a love letter to my family and friends.

I'm walking around London, which is where I was born. I'm half English, and a lot of my family lives there. I'm reminiscing through the hard times and who was there for me. Who poured me with so much love. At the end, there's a beautiful montage of my father, who passed away last year. Then, I hop on the train to my next journey.

You could say it's the same character, but she represents all the different points in my life.

Though this album is described as neo-soul and R&B, I hear influences of jazz, country, and more. How did you develop this unique fusion of genres?

I listen to so many different types of music. If you look at my saved songs on Spotify, it's Beyoncé, Solange, Radiohead, Enya, Stevie Wonder, and Prince. It's never-ending.

How I write my music… I don't really come up with a melody or lyrics first. I like to start from the beginning and be there throughout the whole process. So, I listen to the sound first, whatever it is that starts — a piano line, bassline, trumpets, or guitar. We come up with that, then the music. And that could be anything. Maybe, a chord strikes me. Like, Oh my god, I love that. Stay there.

I remember when I was 10, listening to Voodoo on my Walkman while I rode the school bus. People would be like, "What are you listening to?" It's D'Angelo. No one knew who that was because we were so young. I've always taken a different path when it comes to music. Again, it goes back to me trying to find my sound and what I like. That's really important to me. 

I have so much respect for music and musicians. That's why Prince is one of my favorite artists because he might be listed under R&B or pop, but we know he's more than that. He's his own genre. That's how I looked at this album — we didn't have to fit into any box. 

That was the beautiful thing about that writing camp was because we were like, "Whatever comes out, just let it come out." If I like it, I like it. If I don't, I don't, and we can move on or try to work with it. But I'm not trying to put anyone into a box. It's one of my favorite ways to write. I don't know how I'll go back to a regular day of writing in the studio. 

I recommend [any artist] to go somewhere, get up early in the morning, and write until like 2 or 3 a.m. Then, you do it again. It was so fulfilling to go back and forth between those two rooms. You're just leaning on each other. That journey to getting to where it is now was awesome.

How does 10-year-old Jasmine discover D'Angelo?

My parents! My mom is a jazz singer. My dad was a jazz aficionado. I grew up around a lot of musicians in my life. I was in theater because my dad was an actor, and I would go to my mom's gigs. I found out a lot through my parents. 

I also always listened to the radio. So, I would still know what's going on as a kid, but my mom had the dopest music setup in her house. She had shells and shells of records, cassette tapes, and CDs. And she had a piano with these speakers from the '80s that were amazing. She had headphones you could plug into them, so I would come home every day, do my homework, and sit in that corner for hours, going through her collection.

I went to performing arts school starting in middle school. I remember trying to figure out what to use as my audition song, and I found Stevie's Innervisions. At 11, I decided that "Living for the City" would be my audition song. I used that in middle school, at LaGuardia High School for vocal, and for the Berklee College of Music. And I got into all of them. All of that happened because I just saw and discovered on my own, which I thought was really cool.

In middle school, I sang Ella Fitzgerald's scat song, "Rockin' in Rhythm," and I remember the music teacher being like, "Wait, what? Where did you learn this?" I've always been an oddball, or whatever you want to call it. I just had a love for great music. So, when it comes to my music, I want to put out everything I've been influenced by. That's why some of the songs go on longer than usual. They'll have these amazing transitions, kind of like Earth, Wind & Fire or Prince, and that brings me joy.

You've experimented with so many different lanes, from musical theater to opera. But did you always want to try songwriting?

I didn't consider myself a songwriter for a long time because I didn't do it. As a teenager, I met with a couple of producers, and they'd always ask, "Who do you want to sound like?" It was more their project, so they wanted me to sound a certain way. Because of that, it didn't speak to me.

It wasn't until I was with Samora [that I had the freedom to express my ideas]. We wrote this song "Wild Thing" that is on my EP, Blue Bird. If I'm trying to fit somebody else's box, I'm not going to be able to write. But Samora taught me that I do have melodies and ideas for basslines — and I do have a lot to say.

Did that level of trust also introduce you to producing?

One of my favorite things to do after I finish the melodies and songwriting is sit with the producer. We go through everything. 

"Cali" started with my idea for a bassline and a horn section. So, I sat with my producer and gave them ideas and my input. If I can be there. I want to see it all through.

Does your vocal performance differ when you're auditioning and acting as a character versus your original music?

In musical theater, you're always playing a character. Whoever that character is, you're embodying that and decide what sound comes out of your mouth. On top of that, you're projecting and using your diaphragm differently because a packed theater of 1,300 people has to hear you.

When I sing my music, I get to be more vulnerable. I'm not embodying anyone but myself, so I get to experiment. In a lot of those songs, I go into the stratosphere with my head voice because in high school, I was training to be a coloratura soprano opera singer and learned how to sing crazy high in the clouds, like in my song "Cali."

It's fun to record and explore the different parts of my voice that I wouldn't normally use in a musical theater setting. All the different tones, tambours, and colors in my voice. I get to decide what I can do.

Is there a track on Phoenix that's particularly special to you?

There's an interlude called "Phoenix," and my dad is on it. Before he passed, I randomly asked, "Hey, could you send me a voicemail of what 'phoenix' means to you?" He sent me a three-minute voicemail, and we chopped it up into an interlude. He got to be a part of it, which is so beautiful.

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With worldwide sales of 32 million, five GRAMMY nominations, and more than a dozen Hot 100 hits to her name, Aaliyah achieved more in her tragically cut-short 22 years than most would several lifetimes over. And more than two decades after her untimely death, the female R&B scene is still very much indebted to her pioneering talents.

In the last few years alone, she's been namechecked by Beyoncé, sampled by SZA and Normani, and covered by Mariah the Scientist and Sinead Harnett. And that's only on a sonic level. Ella Mai and Mahalia also recreated her signature tomboyish look in their video for "What You Did," as did Jhené Aiko on " P*$$Y Fairy (OTW)." Justine Skye and Sevyn Streeter are just a few of the names who paid their respects in 2023 ABC tribute Superstar. And going further back, Aaliyah has also been cited as a major source of inspiration by Ciara, Tinashe, Nelly Furtado, and Rihanna, while Katy B and Jessie Ware even named their "Jolene"-esque duet after their musical icon.

And thanks to Aaliyah's innovative second and third studio efforts, 1996's One In A Million and 2001's Aaliyah, finally escaping from licensing limbo in 2021, those growing up in the streaming age are now discovering her supremely sultry voice, masterly interpretative skills, and array of forward-thinking hits, too. In the last three years, the likes of "Try Again" and "Are You That Somebody" have racked up more than 140 ad 170 million streams, respectively, on Spotify alone.

But why exactly does the singer nicknamed Baby Girl still have such a hold on contemporary artists, several of whom were barely out of diapers when she was busy tearing up the R&B rulebook? To coincide with the 30th anniversary of Aaliyah's debut album, Age Ain't Nothing But A Number, here's a look at how the "street but sweet" star built up such an inspirational legacy.

She Knew How To Use Her Voice 

Aaliyah arrived at a time when powerhouses Mariah Carey, Celine Dion and Whitney Houston were the dominant female singers. But the New Yorker quickly proved that lung-busting multiple octaves isn't the only way to vocally impress.

Aaliyah was still capable of such acrobatics. According to producer Daryl Simmons, she would often rely on opera runs before recording to warm up her voice; Diane Warren, who worked with the star on ballad "The One I Gave My Heart To," has spoken of how she was taken aback by her versatility. But Aaliyah's signature delivery was very much "less is more." You can hear her sensual, featherlight tones in the likes of Kelela, Rochelle Jordan, and The Internet's Syd, the latter of whom has specifically hailed Aaliyah as a formative influence on her own cooler-than-cool style.

She Retained An Air Of Mystery 

Aaliyah's less-is-more approach also applied to her public profile. Perhaps due to the controversy surrounding her relationship with debut album producer R. Kelly, the singer largely preferred to let her music do the talking.

Even when she did speak to the press, she kept her cards close to her chest. And she avoided giving the more salacious outlets any further ammunition by growing up away from the spotlight. If they were looking for celebrity beefs, love triangles or stumbling out of nightclubs, they had to look elsewhere.

In the social media era where oversharing is the norm, Aaliyah's desire to keep her private life entirely private now seems both admirable and practically impossible. But there are still several artists who've recognized there's a power in retaining a sense of mystery. Just look at Sault, the enigmatic collective said to be fronted by the Aaliyah-esque Cleo Sol, who've released 11 albums and evenperformed live without officially revealing their true identities.

She Was A Triple Threat 

Triple threats are par for the course these days. From Beyoncé and Rihanna to Brandy and Nicki Minaj, almost every female R&B star now seems determined to show they can pull off singing, dancing and acting — and, in the case of Jennifer Lopez's recent passion project, all at the same time. But Aaliyah was one of the first to showcase such impressive versatility.

In 2000 thriller Romeo Must Die, she stole the show from Jet Li as the daughter of a crime lord who refuses to get drawn into his dangerous underworld. And thanks to an inventive blend of wirework and futuristic choreography, she was equally spellbinding in the video for tie-in single "Try Again." 

Meanwhile, her slithery performance as the titular bloodsucker was by far the standout in 2001 horror Queen of the Damned. Having landed key roles in The Matrix Reloaded and Sparkle shortly before her untimely death, Aaliyah's movie career would undoubtedly have ascended to the same lofty heights as her musical.

She Wasn't Afraid To Take Control 

Don't be fooled by Aaliyah's softly spoken vocals and coy demeanor. The star was never afraid to tell it like it is. Just ask A&R executive Jeff Sledge, who guided her early days with Jive Records. "She was shy but when she would speak, you could tell she was a real artist," he told The Guardian in 2021. "She had her ideas of what she wanted to do and say — she wasn't a puppet."

Although her talents lay as a performer/interpreter rather than a songwriter/producer, Aaliyah continued to exert creative control throughout her discography. While promoting sophomore One In A Million, she told MTV, "I was very confident in my convictions and what I wanted this time around." 

It's a mindset reflected across her lyrical themes, too. On "If Your Girl Only Knew," she hits back at a player whose attention she's unwillingly caught, while on "Are You That Somebody," she insists on keeping her new beau a secret until he proves his worth.

She Helped Launch Missy Elliott's Career 

Although Missy Elliott had started to make waves in the music industry — firstly in short-lived girlband Sista, and then as writer/producer for Jodeci and Aaron Hall — it was her partnership with Timbaland and Aaliyah on 1996's One In A Million where she truly established herself as an R&B game-changer. Elliott co-penned nine tracks, including the singles "Hot Like Fire," "4 Page Letter" and "If Your Girl Only Knew," her sensual melodic hooks the perfect foil for Timbaland's innovative beats.

By the time their crowning glory, "Are You That Somebody," dropped in 1998, Elliott had become a star in her own right: maintaining the synergy, her debut album, 1997's Supa Dupa Fly, also boasted a guest appearance from Aaliyah. But as Elliott told Entertainment Weekly in a tribute to Aaliyah after her passing, their connection went far beyond the studio: "It was more of a family vibe than just work. We could tell each other anything." Over the next few years, both established (Whitney, Mariah) and emerging (702, Tweet) female talent would follow Aaliyah's lead by utilizing Elliott's production skills.

She Gave The Youth A Voice 

From SWV and En Vogue to Brownstone and Jade, the mid-'90s R&B scene was dominated by ladies well into adulthood. Aaliyah, however, was just 15 when debut Age Ain't Nothing But A Number hit the shelves. Subsequently, a generation of young girls immediately latched on to who they saw as a kindred spirit.

Although Aaliyah always sounded more mature than her years, her debut often reads like a schoolgirl's diary entry. (She even opens the title track by noting one: "May 5, 1993/ Aaliyah's diary/ Got it," goes the often-omitted intro.) Songs about crushes, hanging out with her friends, and partying on the weekend certainly reflected the teenage experience with authenticity (Aaliyah was still attending Detroit High School for the Fine and Performing Arts).

What's more, "Young Nation" essentially finds her spearheading a new youth movement, "keeping it smooth with a jazz attitude.""There were so many messages in her songs that guided me and became the soundtrack to my childhood," British singer Kara Marni told The Guardian, proving that Aaliyah's generational influence extended far beyond her homeland.

She Had A Timeless Sense Of Style 

"There doesn't seem to be a current streetwear trend that Aaliyah didn't sport first," Vogue's fashion editor Janelle Okwodu recently claimed, no doubt referring to everything from bandanas and baggy jeans to sports jerseys and ski hats. From the moment she first graced MTV in overalls, a tracksuit and the chunkiest of leather vests in "Back & Forth," the New Yorker made it crystal clear she wasn't interested in appealing solely to the male gaze.

Aaliyah could dress up for the occasion; see the Roberto Cavalli ballgown she wore to the 2000 VMAs. But her sense of style always leaned more toward the casual and tomboyish end of the spectrum, empowering the next generation of R&B performers to wear exactly what they wanted. British singer Nao was one such follower of her fashion: "There was a part of Aaliyah that made me feel comfortable in rolling out in my denim trousers or in an oversized jumper and knowing that my music can be enough."

She Proved Female R&B Could Think Outside The Box 

TLC's "No Scrubs," Missy Elliott's "Get Ur Freak On," Amerie's "1 Thing." Think of the most innovative R&B singles of the pre-streaming era and it's likely a female act is responsible. And thanks to a sonic palette that still sounds like it's been sent from the future, Aaliyah undeniably paved the way.

Age Ain't Nothing But A Number first established her innovative ways, her mellifluous vocals gliding across Timbaland's progressive beats and bank of avant-garde sound effects. But it was 2001's eponymous LP that truly pushed the genre into various weird and wonderful directions, from the snake-charming classical sample on "We Need A Resolution," to the warped Nine Inch Nails-esque guitars on "What If," to the squelchy sci-fi funk of "Try Again." 

Even when she went classic, as on gorgeous slow jam, "I Care 4 U," she practically invented alternative R&B. Musical boundaries might now be a thing of the past, but in the early '00s, Aaliyah was one of the few breaking them down.

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GRAMMY U members got a special treat from Tori Kelly when the singer (and Sing-er) took the stage for the first ever GRAMMY U "Unwrapped" event on May 15. Held at The Novo in downtown Los Angeles, the event brought together fans, music industry professionals, and students for a night that dove deep into the creative process behind Kelly’s brand new record, TORI. Amazon Music and Mastercard were presenting sponsors for this event. 

Joined on stage by producer and collaborator Tenroc, Kelly took fans through a journey of several tracks from her new record, from inception to completion. Kelly discussed each track, aided by a video presentation and using stems to highlight special production techniques, musical intricacies, and cool little Easter eggs. The showcase was followed by a round of live questions from the audience, where Kelly dished about everything from her voiceover work to her pre-studio rituals, before grabbing a guitar and performing two new tracks: "High Water" and "Oceans." 

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Here’s a glimpse into all the songs Kelly and Tenroc featured, from "Missin' U" to "Spruce."

"thing u do”

When it came time to make Tori, Kelly told the audience that she wanted to focus on "songs that make [you] wanna dance," and "songs that [anyone] can belt out in the car." Mainly collaborating just with Tenroc, Bellion, Clyde Lawrence, and Jordan Cohen, Kelly put together a record that's strongly influenced by late '90s and early '00s pop, with references to chirping Sidekick phones and plenty of nostalgic vocal effects. 

"missin u" in particular is interesting, not just because it was inspired by Craig David and the U.K. Garage sound — with Kelly taking special care to pronounce "garage" in true British fashion at the live event — but also because it was released in both its original form and as an R&B edit. The latter version is the one Kelly and Tenroc highlighted at the event, going through Kelly's vocal tracks, and really digging in on the remix's bridge, which Kelly wrote just for that track and recorded in her home studio.

Getting to see Tenroc's Logic Pro work on the big screen seemed to mesmerize everyone in attendance, with most marveling at the ease he seemed to have flicking through the dozens of stems, layers, and plug-ins. 

"missin u"

When it came time to make TORI, Kelly told the audience that she wanted to focus on "songs that make [you] wanna dance," and "songs that [anyone] can belt out in the car." Mainly collaborating just with Tenroc, Bellion, Clyde Lawrence, and Jordan Cohen, Kelly put together a record that's strongly influenced by late '90s and early '00s pop, with references to chirping Sidekick phones and plenty of nostalgic vocal effects.

In particular, "missin u" is interesting, not just because it was inspired by Craig David and the U.K. Garage sound — with Kelly taking special care to pronounce "garage" in true British fashion at the live event — but also because it was released in both its original form and as an R&B edit. The latter version is the one Kelly and Tenroc highlighted at the event, going through Kelly's vocal tracks, and really digging in on the remix's bridge, which Kelly wrote just for that track and recorded in her home studio.

Getting to see Tenroc's Logic Pro work on the big screen seemed to mesmerize everyone in attendance, with most marveling at the ease he seemed to have flicking through the dozens of stems, layers, and plug-ins. 

"shelter"

Talking about "shelter," Kelly described a sort of shorthand she'd developed with Tenroc, after working closely together over the past few years. She said they're at the point where they can communicate with "sounds" and "telepathy," a benefit she attributes to not switching producers throughout the making of her record.

Tenroc and Kelly used "shelter" to talk about the comping process, or the act of combining the best parts of different takes into a single track. Kelly said she typically does about five takes of a vocal track, all in different personas: one normal, one shyer, one wild, one with a lot of vocal runs, and one that's sort of a wild card. She can keep each take separate in her mind that way, remembering how she recorded a vowel slightly better in one take or gave a line a little grittier vocal texture in another. It's not something everyone can do, though, and Tenroc said it's truly amazing to witness in person — a fact the live audience could attest to. 

For Kelly, a lot of making TORI, was about exploring different tones and textures of her voice, she said. She'd sometimes start by doing an impression of a singer like Rihanna and Willow in one run, and then blend the inspired version with her own, stretching herself vocally. She demonstrated that kind of thing live at the show, doing off-the-cuff runs of bits of "Shelter" to talk about how they changed the way the word "plate" in the chorus. 

Tenroc also showed off how he used the Little Alterboy plug-in to alter Kelly's voice, turning the rap in "shelter," as well as the "you, you, you, you, you" bit into what sounds like a deep masculine voice, even though those lines were originally laid down by Kelly herself. 

"spruce"

When "spruce" was first being envisioned by Kelly and co-writer Casey Smith, it was a song called "truce" about making up with your loved one before going out on the town. Kelly had been wanting to make a "getting ready, girly song," though, and Bellion came into the studio one day with the idea of merging the two ideas in what became "spruce." 

Written over a loop made by Tenroc, "spruce" — featuring Kim Chaewon of K-Pop group LE SSERAFIM — is emblematic, Kelly said, of her effort to let go, change, and try new things in the studio. The production was inspired by Jai Paul and uses sidechain compression, which is when the level of one instrument or sound triggers a compressor to control the level of another sound. The crowd clearly seemed taken with the sound when Tenroc played examples of how it was used in the track, which he said he made in part with the Serum plugin. Kelly said the result feels fully "3-D," like you're "inside" the track rather than just listening along.

"same girl"

The last — and most personal —song on the record, "same girl," was mostly written by Kelly while she was on a plane. She wanted something that felt like it could close the record, and she recorded it live with Tenroc in her studio, where he also played piano. 

Kelly said the song was inspired by her love of various music styles and genres. She explained, "Coming up as an artist, I always felt a little insecure about trying to stay in one lane and be in one box. I love so many different genres. I'm inspired by so many different things." She continued, "And so finding my sound I always thought that was a bad thing... But I'm grateful for all these different genres I've been able to dabble in. This song was me being overwhelmed by people's opinions and letting it get to me a little bit while thinking of my career as a whole."

Kelly said that while she worried when she was writing that the lyrics would be too personal and too specific, she's had great feedback about the track, something that reminds her that, "Anytime you write about your own experience, someone else out there is going to be able to relate to it." 

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American musician Pierce Freelon first attended the GRAMMY Awards in the '90s when his mother, jazz artist Nnenna Freelon, received her first nominations. More than two decades later, Pierce and Nnenna shared a full-circle moment at the 2024 GRAMMYs award ceremony when they received a joint nod for their children's album, AnceStars.

"It's not something you can make happen. It's not something you can make up," Nnenna said in an interview for the newest episode of Family Matters.

They spurred the idea for AnceStars after they presented at the 2022 GRAMMY Awards: "It was such an awesome experience, we said, 'You know what? We need to do a record together." When they heard they received a nomination for their project, there were "tears of joy."

"I'm bursting with pride," Nnenna declares. "This is a moment." His mother shared the sentiment adding, "I'm proud of Mom. It's cool to be in a career that is purpose-aligned."

Nnenna and Pierce also introduced their next generation to the beauty of collaboration. Pierce's daughter, Stella, appeared on AnceStars and had the opportunity to attend the ceremony with her father and grandmother, as Pierce did in the '90s.

Press play on the video above to learn more about Nnenna and Pierce Freelon's nomination for Best Children's Album at this year's GRAMMY ceremony, and check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of Family Matters.

2024 GRAMMYs Nominees Who've Stepped Up As Advocates: Nnenna And Pierce Freelon, Tank Ball, Juan Winans & More