Goya Gumbani loves getting dressed, guided not by stylists or trends but by his own research and self-expression, an excitement for fabrics, fits, and fundamentals. The Brooklyn-born, South East London-based artist approaches Warlord of the Weejuns, his first LP on Ghostly International, after years of acclaimed self-releases with the same mentality. Rather than simply recruit beats to rap over, he’s now embodied both the narrator and the conductor, developing a shared musicality with various changes in scenery, players, producers, and guests — including Fatima, lojii, Seafood Sam, Yaya Bey, and many others — outfitting his flow between London’s new jazz generation and New York City’s hip-hop storytelling legacy. Goya borrows the album title from a magazine headline once placed upon Miles Davis (given how well he wore the iconic Weejun loafers). Here, he channels not just that storied style from the king of cool but an artistic ingenuity and timeless sensibility, redefining his recording project with rich, full-band arrangements. Marked by unguarded ambition and introspection, Warlord of the Weejuns is a triumph of taste, heritage, and pride from one of rap music’s most dexterous talents.
Before and during sessions spread across London, Philadelphia, New York, and Los Angeles, Goya leaned into his jazz collection with a heightened sense of awareness, reflecting on Davis’ legacy in the context of intention and growth. “His appreciation and love for music but also clothes, taking pride in your image. Not feeling restricted in your music or your fashion. He kept redefining himself, moving the goalposts. It just opened my eyes to the ideology that there are no bounds; you can’t get boxed in, there’s no wrong turns. Every turn just leads you somewhere else.”
Taking cues from the intuitive and often wordless expressions of jazz as well as the rhythmic meditations of reggae, Goya let the music lead. “I didn’t want to fit 100 words in 16 bars; it was more about making the voice part of the instrumentation, to sit at ease in the mix, like laying in the water, letting the current wash over.” Even when more reclined at the mic, he remains an evocative and boldly vulnerable lyricist, allowing the material to form around life’s impressions — “slight changes to the input,” he says. “The things that I would pour into myself, my views, my mornings waking up, breaking up with girls, meeting new people, it’s all these things. When I listen back to it, I can hear where I was, and I can hear where I’m going.”