If Coltrane was the soundtrack of smoky clubs, Venna’s “MALIK” is the sound of a crowded London street at dusk: neon signs glowing, taxis honking and friends laughing on the curb. It’s jazz, but it doesn’t feel like something you’d study in a conservatory. It feels lived-in, conversational and meant for movement — not just brains.
Jazz has a reputation problem. In the United States, a genre that once ignited dance floors and city blocks is now regarded as “museum music,” guarded by academics, reserved for syllabi and trapped in glass. But across the Atlantic, London’s young jazz players are asking a different question: “What if jazz didn’t need to be fossilized at all? What if it could keep breathing?”
London has become ground zero for a new jazz renaissance that refuses to play by the book. Artists like Yussef Dayes, Moses Boyd, Shabaka Hutchings and the Ezra Collective splice the DNA of jazz with afrobeats, grime and even contemporary electronic music.
Dayes in particular has reimagined what a drummer can do, blending jazz and funk into his Afro-Caribbean rhythms. His 2023 debut album “Black Classical Music” felt as ambitious and boundary-pushing as the title promised.
Many of these artists passed through Tomorrow’s Warriors, a community-driven program that has been a hub of Black British jazz talent. In that environment, collaboration comes naturally; jazz becomes less of a rigid genre and more of a living language, communicating the rhythms of London itself.
And then there’s Venna.
If you’ve listened to Burna Boy, Wizkid or Stormzy, there’s a good chance you’ve heard Venna’s sax before. His fingerprints lie all over Afrobeat’s global rise, even collecting a Grammy at age 21 for his work on Burna Boy’s “Twice as Tall.”
With “MALIK,” his debut album, he steps into the spotlight and embraces the crossover DNA that feeds life into his music. Venna makes the case that jazz doesn’t need to be separated from popular culture — it can live in it.
Where some American jazz musicians pride themselves on their technical flair, Venna places his focus on mood. He doesn’t want you to admire scales or musical dynamics; he wants you to sink into them. His sax is smooth but never sterile, the kind of jazz that can turn a late-night drive into a spiritual awakening.
The album itself feels like a series of conversations. In “Numero Uno,” Venna’s horn glides over a mostly subdued piano and guitar, practically bobbing your head for you. In “Myself,” Venna leans into Afrobeats, placing Jorja Smith’s angelic melodies over a somewhat empty instrumental.
The brilliance of Venna is in this space he leaves unfilled. The silences, the isolated vocals, the breaths between phrases — it’s music that places just as much emphasis on vibe as virtuosity. I love that because it feels closer to how I actually experience sharing my music with friends. It’s not about showing off scales or breaks; it’s about setting a mood everyone can sink into.
Jazz has always been a fluid genre; from bebop to swing to fusion, it’s survived through its endless mutations. Its power was never in staying pure, but colliding with whatever context surrounds it. That’s why Venna’s “MALIK” feels less like a side note and more like a continuation of jazz’s history. For me, that matters because I don’t want to inherit jazz as something locked behind glass; I want to hear it breathe in the same spaces I do.
If jazz in the United States is treated as classical music — something to be revered, perfected and preserved — London’s scene treated jazz like a sample pack — something to be chopped up, reversed, remixed and released back into the stratosphere. It feels closer to how I experienced music growing up; thrown on YouTube, sampled on Soundcloud, drifting between genres without permission. I don’t think either is correct, but only one of them feels like something people outside the academy can touch.
Venna doesn’t attempt to save jazz because he doesn’t need to. He refuses to let it suffocate under the academic magnifying glass. By weaving in Afrobeats, R&B and grime, he reminds us that jazz isn’t an artifact of the past, but something ever-changing through time.
It is still breathing.
“MALIK” is not the most technically dazzling album you will hear this year, nor does it want to be. What it wants is to remind you that jazz can still be the soundtrack to your daily life.
“ “MALIK” is not the most technically dazzling album you will hear this year, nor does it want to be. What it wants is to remind you that jazz can still be the soundtrack to your daily life.” ”
Whether it’s your commute, party or late-night scroll, “MALIK” slips into the rhythm of your life.
The question isn’t if this is real jazz. The better question is: Can you hear it breathing?
Sinan Walji PO ’28 has made peace with the fact that Blonde might be the last Frank Ocean album. He finds the wait painful and a little ridiculous. He wonders if Frank is laughing. He almost hopes he is.
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