Afie Jurvanen, aka Bahamas, has a theory: artists don’t have trouble being artists, it’s the industry that has trouble letting them. “Left to their own devices, they will make art and they’ll do interesting things,” he shrugs. “It’s when you try and turn it into a product… that’s when it becomes an issue.” Lucky for him—and unlucky for the genre police—he stopped caring what to call his music the second he started making Earthtones.
You could say Bahamas has gone funky, but that wouldn’t quite do it justice. There’s no dramatic reinvention here, just an exaggerated version of what was already there. “I just thought, how do I do that?” he says about weaving R&B and hip-hop energy into his sound. “How can I insert that into my music? And it just seemed like the natural thing was to exaggerate all the stuff I was already interested in, which is really just rhythm and groove.”
This time, he went all in—fewer folk sighs, more deep-pocket grooves, and a serious helping of soul. Cue Bad Boys Need Love Too, the kind of track that makes you check if Spotify’s glitching. Not that he’s losing sleep over fans needing a double take. “Music is whatever I want it to be,” he shrugs. “It’s not good for anybody if I just do the same thing over and over.”
True, it worked for AC/DC, but Afie’s got other plans.
Unlike his earlier meticulously arranged records, this one came from stolen moments—in traffic, on tour, in Prague. “I just don’t have a whole lot of time,” he says. “Now, if I have five minutes sitting in traffic, I just—boom. I had that line, Bad boys need love too, and I just started banging it out.” Forget noodling around for hours; dad life doesn’t allow that kind of luxury. And yet, somehow, this record—written in bits and pieces, honed in hotel rooms and car rides—might just be his best yet. “You kind of have less time to second-guess, so you’re relying on your instincts,” he says. “It’s so liberating.”
And don’t think he did it alone. Enter Pino Palladino and James Gadson, the legendary rhythm section he brought in for the LA sessions. These guys brought more than just their resumes—they brought calm, confidence, and a timeless touch. “We didn’t discuss the strategy,” he says. “I just started playing the songs… it was very, very organic.” So organic, in fact, that he ended up recording more tracks in Prague with his road band, who blended in so seamlessly with Pino and James that even he can’t tell who played what anymore.
Still, there’s a line in one of his songs that sticks: I’m just repeating myself since I wrote Southern Drawl. A wink? A confession? A sigh? Maybe all three. “There’s some sort of Groundhog Day thing,” he admits, about the routine of touring and writing. “But I get to have a life in music and art… so it’s all very, very positive.” Just don’t expect him to settle into any particular lane anytime soon.
He’s got a kid now, after all. One who’s into Paw Patrol and whatever else toddlers vibe to. Does he worry about being dragged into the world of Disney soundtracks and bubblegum jingles? Not really. “We listen to a lot of good music, so I’m not terribly concerned,” he laughs. “But yeah, there’s some Paw Patrol going on for sure.”
So here’s Bahamas now: part-time funk explorer, full-time dad, and all-around groove chaser. Still singing, still strumming, still sneaking greatness into five-minute windows. And still, somehow, doing something nobody else is.
Listen to the interview above and then check out "Way with Words" below!
