Community
Joseph Manzoli
KEY WORDS
music, playing, feel, artists, explore, people, started, racing, projects, validation, terms, jazz, relationship, remember, audience, phrase, years, famous, thinking, world
Born in Toronto, Joseph Manzoli began playing guitar professionally at the age of 15. He attended Berklee College of Music in 2009 on scholarship as a guitar player, and since has toured extensively as an artist and sideman with acts such as Adrianne Lenker (Big Thief), Nick Hakim, Danilo Perez, John Patitucci, and most notably his own project, ginla. While at Berklee, Joseph was selected as 1 of 12 musicians to be a part of the then-new “Global Jazz Institute,” spearheaded by renowned jazz pianist Danilo Perez. Within the institute, Joseph would go onto perform with jazz legends like John Patittuci, Joe Lovano, Dave Liebman, Wayne Shorter, etc. In 2010 Joseph began playing with Adrianne Lenker (Big Thief), and shifted his focus from jazz to producing records in other genres (folk, r&b, electronic). In 2014 Joseph stopped performing as a sideman and formed “ginla”. They went on to sign with Terrible Records in 2015, with whom ginla released its debut self titled EP, and debut full length “Codex”. As a part of ginla, Joseph has toured extensively with acts such as Com Truise, Sports, Nick Hakim, Jaunt, Mr. Twin Sister, Jack Grace, and many others. With their debut self-titled EP (2017), ginla collaborated with renowned concept artist “John Baldessari” in creating original artwork for the album cover. As a producer, Joseph has worked with many different artists across many different genres. Most recently, he produced the debut Sister Ray LP “Communion” out via Royal Mountain Records, and was long-listed for the 2022 Polaris Music Prize.
Manzoli started the label/collective, No Content in 2019 with long-time collaborator Jonathan Nellen. Initially started as a means of tying together the pairs’ varying projects under one umbrella, it quickly began developing its own buzz, attracting other artists, especially locally in Toronto, and now has over 20 releases. Joseph records under several monikers, some of which include DJ Planet Express, VTX, Robert Mooney, and Rebica.
This conversation took place in August 2023.
KT
Okay, so where I want to start is how you got into music. From my memory, you shared that when you were younger, you used to sit in your room and just stare at a poster for hours listening to jazz.
JM
Yeah. Actually, no. I wasn't staring at a poster. I was staring at nothing because my eyes were closed. *laughs*. I mean, I was always into music. There was always a guitar around the house, so I started playing guitar, teaching myself at a pretty young age.
The first time I was obsessed with music, that I remember, was when I was seven and I first heard Intergalactic by Beastie Boys. I was like, I want to make instruments speak. I remember having that thought when I was seven. I didn't play guitar until a couple of years after that, maybe around 9 or 10. Once I started playing guitar, I got super into exploring the instrument. I started with the typical, classic rock and whatever, then that led me to blues. Blues is closely tied to jazz, well, jazz came out of blues. I really like to intellectualize music and jazz is a playground for anybody who thinks about music in that way.
Once you're into jazz, especially at a young age, it becomes your life really quickly. I would have been around 14 at this point. I was pretty serious about it then, but doing it for my whole life still wasn't on my radar. On some level though, I think I had already accepted that it would become my whole life. Throughout high school, I was in the jazz band and I was going to Humber College’s community program on the weekends. At Humber, I was playing with professional jazz musicians. They were really, really intense about it, which I loved. They were the ones getting me to transcribe old records. That was around, 15, 16.
I spent those summers just listening to music. There was one summer where I didn't play guitar at all. I just listened every day, like, seven or eight hours a day to a handful of recordings. That was the weirdest part. It wasn't like I was listening to different recordings. I would listen to two or three tracks over and over again and try and memorize every solo and be able to sing it back. Most jazz musicians go through a phase where they do stuff like that. Maybe not verbatim like I did it, but in their own way. It is a big part of the learning process. From that point, I studied music in school, and I never stopped playing really.
The first time I was obsessed with music, that I remember, was when I was seven and I first heard Intergalactic by Beastie Boys. I was like, I want to make instruments speak. I remember having that thought when I was seven. I didn't play guitar until a couple of years after that, maybe around 9 or 10. Once I started playing guitar, I got super into exploring the instrument. I started with the typical, classic rock and whatever, then that led me to blues. Blues is closely tied to jazz, well, jazz came out of blues. I really like to intellectualize music and jazz is a playground for anybody who thinks about music in that way.
Once you're into jazz, especially at a young age, it becomes your life really quickly. I would have been around 14 at this point. I was pretty serious about it then, but doing it for my whole life still wasn't on my radar. On some level though, I think I had already accepted that it would become my whole life. Throughout high school, I was in the jazz band and I was going to Humber College’s community program on the weekends. At Humber, I was playing with professional jazz musicians. They were really, really intense about it, which I loved. They were the ones getting me to transcribe old records. That was around, 15, 16.
I spent those summers just listening to music. There was one summer where I didn't play guitar at all. I just listened every day, like, seven or eight hours a day to a handful of recordings. That was the weirdest part. It wasn't like I was listening to different recordings. I would listen to two or three tracks over and over again and try and memorize every solo and be able to sing it back. Most jazz musicians go through a phase where they do stuff like that. Maybe not verbatim like I did it, but in their own way. It is a big part of the learning process. From that point, I studied music in school, and I never stopped playing really.
KT
Did you do that listening exercise because you knew that other musicians did?
JM
Yeah, it’s part of the tradition so I was doing exercises like that with teachers on a smaller scale. But I have a really competitive side to me. So I was like, what's the craziest version of that, that I could try? That nobody else would be willing to do? Let's do that. I started getting really extreme with it to see if I could enter some other state of mind within the music that transcends it just being an exercise. It started a meditative process that could help me understand the music more than in an intellectual way, which was the initial goal. Understanding ear training was the initial goal, but I started to wonder, how can I understand that on an emotional level? Because music is supposed to be that. It's not supposed to be just an exercise, it’s supposed to have life.
KT
You were in jazz band, you mentioned, but would you say that you were on this journey with anybody else at that point?
“I always saw myself as someone who's just growing. To be an imposter would mean that you've arrived somewhere[.]”
– Joseph Manzoli
JM
Yes, and no. I mean, my whole thing, which you know, is I'm like, a ringleader. Everybody who knows me says I'll probably be a cult leader one day or something like that. *laughs*. I'm very good at becoming interested in things, putting that on other people and then dragging them in with me, even though they want nothing to do with it. So, that was jazz.
I did have a group of friends in high school that I was and still am very, very close with. They started learning just enough to be able to play. I was obviously very intense about it and forced them to learn certain things. Definitely, a large part of it was very selfish. I needed musicians to play with, you know? So the easiest way for me to do that was to teach other people how to play and then play with them. So I did that, and it worked. And the easiest way to solidify a concept is to teach somebody it. You learn so much by teaching because you have to say it in words and explain it to somebody. Those two things were synonymous for me, I was teaching and learning ideas that I was trying to work through all at the same time.
Playing in high school was a springboard. My teachers were like, yeah, we think you should probably go elsewhere for this because you're a little bit too intense. They had put me in touch with the people at Humber and got me into the program there. And then the head of the Humber program really took me under his wing at the time. I was 15, and I remember walking in, thinking I was the hotshot or whatever. These guys just put me to bed like it was nonsense. I remember I didn't even really understand what was happening because I was playing with people with no experience at the time, right? But then I went into this setting where these guys were all a lot better than me by a long shot. I was just a newb.
I remember this guy brought me in, Kirk McDonald, and he was playing sax in my face, really loud. I remember being so scared. I was like, holy smokes, but this is what I wanted. This is it. Let's go. You know? It's what I had been searching for. So all of this is to say that through that program, I did meet people who were on the exact same path as me and other kids who were invested and intense. One in particular who was far more intense than me. He was a huge influence on me and my development. He showed me so much music that, at the time, I didn't even know existed. So yeah, eventually, I found my people.
I did have a group of friends in high school that I was and still am very, very close with. They started learning just enough to be able to play. I was obviously very intense about it and forced them to learn certain things. Definitely, a large part of it was very selfish. I needed musicians to play with, you know? So the easiest way for me to do that was to teach other people how to play and then play with them. So I did that, and it worked. And the easiest way to solidify a concept is to teach somebody it. You learn so much by teaching because you have to say it in words and explain it to somebody. Those two things were synonymous for me, I was teaching and learning ideas that I was trying to work through all at the same time.
Playing in high school was a springboard. My teachers were like, yeah, we think you should probably go elsewhere for this because you're a little bit too intense. They had put me in touch with the people at Humber and got me into the program there. And then the head of the Humber program really took me under his wing at the time. I was 15, and I remember walking in, thinking I was the hotshot or whatever. These guys just put me to bed like it was nonsense. I remember I didn't even really understand what was happening because I was playing with people with no experience at the time, right? But then I went into this setting where these guys were all a lot better than me by a long shot. I was just a newb.
I remember this guy brought me in, Kirk McDonald, and he was playing sax in my face, really loud. I remember being so scared. I was like, holy smokes, but this is what I wanted. This is it. Let's go. You know? It's what I had been searching for. So all of this is to say that through that program, I did meet people who were on the exact same path as me and other kids who were invested and intense. One in particular who was far more intense than me. He was a huge influence on me and my development. He showed me so much music that, at the time, I didn't even know existed. So yeah, eventually, I found my people.
KT
Did you ever feel, in those challenging moments, like an imposter? Or, oh, I don't know if I'll actually be able to do this. Were you ever thinking of where your end goal was, ever?
JM
No, definitely not. The end goal is always, it's all relative, right? It sort of becomes more clear over time, then not, and then again. It's a never-ending cycle. I never personally felt like an imposter. I was always weirded out by the concept of impostor syndrome. It just seems like so. I don't know. It's just thinking too much of yourself, you know what I mean? I always saw myself as someone who's just growing. To be an imposter would mean that you've arrived somewhere, you know? And how could you be sure of that? Especially with something as obscure as music. Again, imposter would mean that you're trying to achieve some sort of status. And that, to me, is just not what my relationship with music has ever been. That's just not the goal. I mean, part comes with the territory. Of course, we're trying to make a living and contribute to society, and share our music, so you can't remove that. So I wouldn't ignore that altogether. Of course, you want to have as wide a reach as possible. But in the development process, especially, that was totally off my radar. It was just trying to grow as much as possible.
KT
Yeah, that's interesting. When you were describing growth and process, I think that separates this narrative of playing music to get famous or become this thing, as opposed to building a relationship with the craft. You also reminded me of music being another language. Like you said, it’s another way you can speak. It reorients this whole other world of the spotlight being your end goal.
JM
Yeah, it's one of those things. Anybody who that's their driver, I understand them. You know what I mean? I don't think that's a negative thing per se. To be honest, I think to be a great artist, you have to have some sort of ego, and ego is not necessarily a bad thing. There is a bad side to it if you don't have it under control, but I think any artist who's releasing music in the world who tells you no part of them wants to be famous, I don't necessarily believe that. Maybe they think they’re some sort of mystic and sharing it on that level, which I think would be very, very rare.
Artists love to say they don't care about fame or want to be famous. That was what Bob Dylan said all the time. I'm just a guy. But anybody who was close to him said Dylan wanted to be famous more than anybody they knew. It's one of those things where having a relationship with that as a concept is helpful. Not seeing it as negative, but not letting it overshadow your experimenting and your journey with your own development. You can’t lose sight of why you started doing whatever it is in the first place.
Those are all the important things for me. You can be like, I want to be the next biggest thing in the world. I'm totally down with that sort of energy. As long as it doesn't overshadow everything else, you know what I mean? It can even be on the same level; that's totally fine. Maybe a little more, that's fine, too. There are some people where you look in their eyes, and you see nothing because they're just totally consumed by this need to be validated. That's where it's obviously a bit much, and I would probably stray away from those individuals. But yeah, I like a little bit of fire, though, you know, wanting to get it going, wanting to make something happen. I think it's cool.
Artists love to say they don't care about fame or want to be famous. That was what Bob Dylan said all the time. I'm just a guy. But anybody who was close to him said Dylan wanted to be famous more than anybody they knew. It's one of those things where having a relationship with that as a concept is helpful. Not seeing it as negative, but not letting it overshadow your experimenting and your journey with your own development. You can’t lose sight of why you started doing whatever it is in the first place.
Those are all the important things for me. You can be like, I want to be the next biggest thing in the world. I'm totally down with that sort of energy. As long as it doesn't overshadow everything else, you know what I mean? It can even be on the same level; that's totally fine. Maybe a little more, that's fine, too. There are some people where you look in their eyes, and you see nothing because they're just totally consumed by this need to be validated. That's where it's obviously a bit much, and I would probably stray away from those individuals. But yeah, I like a little bit of fire, though, you know, wanting to get it going, wanting to make something happen. I think it's cool.
KT
Yeah. Obviously, we all feel good when we're validated. There's this feeling of being seen for something you're making and pouring so much of yourself into. Validation is part of the equation, but when it becomes all of it, that becomes a challenge for people's egos and sense of self.
Where does that come into play for you? And has that been challenging? With getting up on stage, feeling the validation of a crowd, and then coming back home to yourself. How have you navigated that in the past, and where have you gotten with it now?
Where does that come into play for you? And has that been challenging? With getting up on stage, feeling the validation of a crowd, and then coming back home to yourself. How have you navigated that in the past, and where have you gotten with it now?
JM
Yeah, it's a weird one. Validation, on a certain level, really, really helps move things along. You know? There are two sides to it for me, there's the releasing music side, releasing anything that you're making, and then there's playing shows and stuff. Both of those are super related, but kind of different experiences.
I've made a lot of music that nobody liked, you know, a lot. I’m talking hundreds and hundreds of tracks. You just keep going, you know what I mean? And then I made some stuff that people started to like, and when they started to like it, I have to say it made making that kind of music a lot easier because I felt this burst of energy. It's not even necessarily being proud of it and whatever. It's that now there's an audience that I can communicate with. I'm not alone in this. There's an exchange happening here, you know? Which is always why I wanted to play music. I don't want to just play for myself. I want to share it with people.
More specific than validation, being able to communicate with an individual or group of people and feed off of that is super helpful in terms of making music. The problem with that is that it takes, I mean, it happens at a different time for everybody. But for me, it took a really, really long time to even get a little bit of something that I really felt in terms of validation from a group of people listening.
That said, it's weird because that's not why I'm making music. I'm not making music to be validated, you know? It's one of those things where we're all on some level seeking that out; it's directly related to the thing. The prior question about people wanting to be famous, it's really the same thing. It's not negative, but it shouldn't decide what you make entirely. I was trying a lot of different things out for many years. All of that got me to where I'm at now. You can't erase anything that you've done. All of those decisions you make, you make for a reason; that's your path.
The second side of that, playing live, I think it's the most important in a way. I've played so many shows where you've got a whole room of people that are just like [blank face, staring at you]. It's literally the toughest thing to work a room that way. It's, oh my God, it's like, so brutal.
But then yeah, last we spoke, I was telling you about that show in Montreal I played where it was one of the best I've ever played. The audience was so committed to what I was doing. I felt like I could do no wrong. I was trying all kinds of stuff out that I wouldn't have normally tried out. I was going in all sorts of different directions. Honestly, it was just like we were in it together. So there's this encouragement. That's the word I would use to describe it. I felt really empowered by it. I felt they were with me. It wasn't me and them. I wasn't playing to them. We were playing together. Their role in the show was as important as mine in a way.
For live performance, there are things as a performer that I've been practising for many years, trying to disarm an audience, for example. To get everybody to feel relaxed the second you're on stage and be open to what you're going to do. There's so much to learn in terms of your own body language, eye contact, your set, what you start with, what the first note you play is, all this kind of stuff, right? I mean, that's what's so cool about live music. No matter how prepared you are for it, it's a different experience every time, and you gather information.
I've made a lot of music that nobody liked, you know, a lot. I’m talking hundreds and hundreds of tracks. You just keep going, you know what I mean? And then I made some stuff that people started to like, and when they started to like it, I have to say it made making that kind of music a lot easier because I felt this burst of energy. It's not even necessarily being proud of it and whatever. It's that now there's an audience that I can communicate with. I'm not alone in this. There's an exchange happening here, you know? Which is always why I wanted to play music. I don't want to just play for myself. I want to share it with people.
More specific than validation, being able to communicate with an individual or group of people and feed off of that is super helpful in terms of making music. The problem with that is that it takes, I mean, it happens at a different time for everybody. But for me, it took a really, really long time to even get a little bit of something that I really felt in terms of validation from a group of people listening.
That said, it's weird because that's not why I'm making music. I'm not making music to be validated, you know? It's one of those things where we're all on some level seeking that out; it's directly related to the thing. The prior question about people wanting to be famous, it's really the same thing. It's not negative, but it shouldn't decide what you make entirely. I was trying a lot of different things out for many years. All of that got me to where I'm at now. You can't erase anything that you've done. All of those decisions you make, you make for a reason; that's your path.
The second side of that, playing live, I think it's the most important in a way. I've played so many shows where you've got a whole room of people that are just like [blank face, staring at you]. It's literally the toughest thing to work a room that way. It's, oh my God, it's like, so brutal.
But then yeah, last we spoke, I was telling you about that show in Montreal I played where it was one of the best I've ever played. The audience was so committed to what I was doing. I felt like I could do no wrong. I was trying all kinds of stuff out that I wouldn't have normally tried out. I was going in all sorts of different directions. Honestly, it was just like we were in it together. So there's this encouragement. That's the word I would use to describe it. I felt really empowered by it. I felt they were with me. It wasn't me and them. I wasn't playing to them. We were playing together. Their role in the show was as important as mine in a way.
For live performance, there are things as a performer that I've been practising for many years, trying to disarm an audience, for example. To get everybody to feel relaxed the second you're on stage and be open to what you're going to do. There's so much to learn in terms of your own body language, eye contact, your set, what you start with, what the first note you play is, all this kind of stuff, right? I mean, that's what's so cool about live music. No matter how prepared you are for it, it's a different experience every time, and you gather information.
KT
Yeah, when you said the audience of that show in Montreal was just as important as you, it’s cool to hear you describe performing in that way. It puts you on an equal playing field as the listener. And a listener is what you started as. It’s like a full-circle moment. I'm sure growing up as a kid listening to this music, your role as a listener probably felt really important to you. Everyone who's a fan of someone else wants to feel like they're a part of your journey and like they're pushing you forward into whatever it is that you're making next.
JM
Yeah, I mean, I remember some of the most important shows that I've ever been to. When I was a teenager, for example, I remember I saw Atlas Sound, which is Bradford Cox's solo project, from Deer Hunter. He's one of the greatest performers. Being in an audience for one of his shows, you really felt sort of scared almost. He was so present, and you felt like he could see you. You had this direct connection to him. That was absolutely terrifying in a way because he was known for pulling people on the stage. And also, his sets were so unpredictable. It always felt like, at any moment, they could fly off the rails and be really bad. You know what I mean? Which is what was so sick about it.
I think shows like that are a testament to how important it is as a performer, at least for me, to feel that direct connection to the audience on an even playing field. When you're having a conversation with somebody, for example, and you feel they like to talk, but they're not great at listening. Obviously, the connection is a little bit funky. You don't feel as connected to the person. But when you're talking with someone who has those open arms and is listening just as much, obviously, that's way more engaging.
I think those same principles apply. Well, they definitely do with music. There's this dialogue happening, it's a conversation. One person or a group of people are playing, and people are listening, but the audience is making noises, too. They're clapping, they're cheering, that's a conversation. And different people have different ways of communicating what they need to. Miles Davis was famous for walking on stage and turning his back to the audience. Especially in the 80s, when he was the most famous he had become. Even that was a way of communicating. Of course, it was a very different method, but it was equally scary and communicated just as much as anybody else, if not more. The cool thing about art is that there are a million ways to have this dialogue and have it be an experience for everybody that's there.
I think shows like that are a testament to how important it is as a performer, at least for me, to feel that direct connection to the audience on an even playing field. When you're having a conversation with somebody, for example, and you feel they like to talk, but they're not great at listening. Obviously, the connection is a little bit funky. You don't feel as connected to the person. But when you're talking with someone who has those open arms and is listening just as much, obviously, that's way more engaging.
I think those same principles apply. Well, they definitely do with music. There's this dialogue happening, it's a conversation. One person or a group of people are playing, and people are listening, but the audience is making noises, too. They're clapping, they're cheering, that's a conversation. And different people have different ways of communicating what they need to. Miles Davis was famous for walking on stage and turning his back to the audience. Especially in the 80s, when he was the most famous he had become. Even that was a way of communicating. Of course, it was a very different method, but it was equally scary and communicated just as much as anybody else, if not more. The cool thing about art is that there are a million ways to have this dialogue and have it be an experience for everybody that's there.
KT
Yeah, when you talk about it being a dialogue or relationship, those things have no endpoints, and are always evolving. You're always learning new ways of communicating as you learn about yourself or what you want to say. It’s always changing, which supports what you were saying earlier, too. How music was never just for yourself and that other people have always had a big role.
Okay, you've touched on this a little bit, but who or what would you say that you bring forward with you in your work? What lives on through your work? What do you bring into making a track? What goes into that?
Okay, you've touched on this a little bit, but who or what would you say that you bring forward with you in your work? What lives on through your work? What do you bring into making a track? What goes into that?
JM
A whole lot of love. *laughs*. Oh, I honestly don't know. It changes all the time. One of the main things I would say is that I'm an artist, of course, but I'm a fan of music even more. I'm always being influenced by a specific recording at any given time. 95% of the time, that's my launching point, hearing something that's interesting. But, of course, that's the research aspect of being an artist. Eno said art is theft, you know? Well, that's where I heard that phrase; I'm sure it existed long before him.
The second part of that, if you look at that a little bit further, what makes it into a recording? It’s a feeling. Something that makes you feel a certain way. So what I try and do is replicate that feeling. You want other people to feel that feeling that you felt in a recording. For me, that's the goal. If you take that one step further, I think the goal of most artists is to give you their perspective on the world. I mean that in an abstract way, but it could be in a literal way too. Kendrick Lamar is really good at that, putting you in his shoes with his lyrics and the emotions he's putting down in his recordings. He's one of the best I've found that's really brought to life this feeling and his experience on this planet, you know? For me, that's the goal.
I'm sure it comes as no surprise because when you think about your favourite artists in the world, why do we always feel like we know them personally, you know? Why are we so offended when an artist who we love says something that isn't in line with our projected image of them? It's because through their music, or whatever, they've been able to instil this feeling that's so transcendent, that makes you feel like you know them. On a certain level, you do because they did make that music or visual art or whatever it is. So I think for me, that's always what I'm trying to do with music, communicate my experience, and share that with people. I think the most moving thing is to be able to feel like you know someone, right? You connect with them, and what I just said is a way to do that.
The second part of that, if you look at that a little bit further, what makes it into a recording? It’s a feeling. Something that makes you feel a certain way. So what I try and do is replicate that feeling. You want other people to feel that feeling that you felt in a recording. For me, that's the goal. If you take that one step further, I think the goal of most artists is to give you their perspective on the world. I mean that in an abstract way, but it could be in a literal way too. Kendrick Lamar is really good at that, putting you in his shoes with his lyrics and the emotions he's putting down in his recordings. He's one of the best I've found that's really brought to life this feeling and his experience on this planet, you know? For me, that's the goal.
I'm sure it comes as no surprise because when you think about your favourite artists in the world, why do we always feel like we know them personally, you know? Why are we so offended when an artist who we love says something that isn't in line with our projected image of them? It's because through their music, or whatever, they've been able to instil this feeling that's so transcendent, that makes you feel like you know them. On a certain level, you do because they did make that music or visual art or whatever it is. So I think for me, that's always what I'm trying to do with music, communicate my experience, and share that with people. I think the most moving thing is to be able to feel like you know someone, right? You connect with them, and what I just said is a way to do that.
KT
As you were saying that, what I was reminded of was the one music video you made inside of Colour Fast. I'm wondering, is there any overarching theme that you would say is your perspective on life?
JM
That's a great question. I don't know that I have one specific theme that I've explored. It's a weird thing to think about. It's such an abstract concept, you know? If you listen to everything I've ever made, there's a cohesive emotional palette, I would say. But even that, maybe not because I have music I've made that's kind of horror-esque and kind of really aggressive, electronic experimental stuff. I've made a lot of ambient music that's super pretty and calm and whatever. So I don't know. It's funny, I think that there are artists that have one theme that they explore throughout their entire careers, you know? And I don't think I'm one of those artists, to be honest. I think what I'm into and what emotion I'm exploring is super fluid and always changing with whatever phase of life I'm in. Sometimes it's ugly, sometimes it's pretty.
KT
I’m thinking about a theme of "connection," which sounds so general. But, I think you are building worlds that you invite people to step into to connect with. You provide people with so many access points. It makes sense, the fluidity you speak about and the dynamics and various styles that you play with and continue to. It's not like, you've experienced success with DJ Planet Express, and now that's the only access point you're focusing on. You're still deciding to make music and build things in various ways. It seems like sharing those feelings to connect with others, in whatever way that looks like, is one core theme or driver in your work.
JM
Yeah, to take that idea further, the big picture is a really strange one, which is why it's so hard to describe, you know. But yeah, I have many different monikers, and all of those are different parts of myself. There's some crossover between them in terms of the emotional palate, sometimes there's not so much, or sometimes it's more of a sonic palette I'm exploring. But for me, my relationship with music is sort of unique. Or maybe not unique; unique isn't isn't the right word. That seems like I'm congratulating myself. It's just different than a lot of people.
I was talking with you about Adrienne and how she's one of my biggest influences. I was always envious of her relationship with music because it's singular. She plays guitar, and she sings. She always has for as long as she's been playing music. That's what she does. That's her one thing that she does, and she does it better than anybody I've ever met, you know? I've always been envious of that because my journey has been the opposite. I've always been like, oh, I'm into Beastie Boys, Intergalactic. I love production. I love jazz. None of them have anything to do with each other, other than they’re music. And so my whole thing has basically been decoding that and trying to figure out what it is I do with music. Which is kind of everything. But everything can be nothing really fast. I think my path and what I've been doing and working towards is this big-picture thing that, truth be told, will probably take another 20 years before we understand what it actually is. But it's this dynamic universe with many different worlds that interact and influence each other. The big picture I haven't yet completely identified, although I do have a relationship with it now.
I think that's been the most exciting part of music, identifying my relationship with it and then working towards decoding the blueprints. Trying to lay it all out, create worlds and see where we end up. It's loosely related to the original question of what is the emotion or perspective that I'm putting forth. That is my perspective. My upbringing is also super strange. I grew up in a suburb that was 90% Italian or whatever, and I was the only artist that I knew. So I never fit in there. I never fit in anywhere, really. I didn't come up in the Toronto music scene, was always a stranger there and moved to the US when I was 18 to play jazz. Moved to New York after Boston. I never felt like I was a part of anywhere. I never came up in a scene. So I was always just flirting with these different themes and ideas and being sort of on the outskirts of many different things and exploring them. I think that is my perspective. You know, it just is. It's a weird thing to try and explore. It would be a lot easier for me to just say, I write songs about love, you know? But I don't, you know, that's just not my perspective. I have done that, but that was just one of many things I've done.
I was talking with you about Adrienne and how she's one of my biggest influences. I was always envious of her relationship with music because it's singular. She plays guitar, and she sings. She always has for as long as she's been playing music. That's what she does. That's her one thing that she does, and she does it better than anybody I've ever met, you know? I've always been envious of that because my journey has been the opposite. I've always been like, oh, I'm into Beastie Boys, Intergalactic. I love production. I love jazz. None of them have anything to do with each other, other than they’re music. And so my whole thing has basically been decoding that and trying to figure out what it is I do with music. Which is kind of everything. But everything can be nothing really fast. I think my path and what I've been doing and working towards is this big-picture thing that, truth be told, will probably take another 20 years before we understand what it actually is. But it's this dynamic universe with many different worlds that interact and influence each other. The big picture I haven't yet completely identified, although I do have a relationship with it now.
I think that's been the most exciting part of music, identifying my relationship with it and then working towards decoding the blueprints. Trying to lay it all out, create worlds and see where we end up. It's loosely related to the original question of what is the emotion or perspective that I'm putting forth. That is my perspective. My upbringing is also super strange. I grew up in a suburb that was 90% Italian or whatever, and I was the only artist that I knew. So I never fit in there. I never fit in anywhere, really. I didn't come up in the Toronto music scene, was always a stranger there and moved to the US when I was 18 to play jazz. Moved to New York after Boston. I never felt like I was a part of anywhere. I never came up in a scene. So I was always just flirting with these different themes and ideas and being sort of on the outskirts of many different things and exploring them. I think that is my perspective. You know, it just is. It's a weird thing to try and explore. It would be a lot easier for me to just say, I write songs about love, you know? But I don't, you know, that's just not my perspective. I have done that, but that was just one of many things I've done.
“It's that now there's an audience that I can communicate with. I'm not alone in this. There's an exchange happening here, you know? Which is always why I wanted to play music. I don't want to just play for myself. I want to share it with people.”
– Joseph Manzoli
KT
I'm so glad that you landed in that area of identifying where you came from and the complexity that unravelled in you as you started to explore different parts of yourself. As you were describing your upbringing, and you didn’t mention this, but even you going to an all-boys school, how all of that would make you feel like you had to be this one thing. So it seems natural that you’ve built these worlds where you can be so many things and be seen. To your point earlier, people just want to be seen and known and understood. You've developed all of these worlds where you can be, and you get to share them and build all of these relationships through them with people who also resonate with what you make.
I feel like it also gives permission to other people to do the same thing and know they don't have to be one thing. So many people are desperate for that permission. We're all so complex and contradictory, and there's so much nuance in what we all do. Like you said, Adrianne does this one thing and does it really well. I think we grow up with this romanticism thinking, I want to be the best at this one thing.
I feel like it also gives permission to other people to do the same thing and know they don't have to be one thing. So many people are desperate for that permission. We're all so complex and contradictory, and there's so much nuance in what we all do. Like you said, Adrianne does this one thing and does it really well. I think we grow up with this romanticism thinking, I want to be the best at this one thing.
JM
Yeah, exactly. A lot of my whole process is trying to learn who I am. Some of my favourite music is music that feels the most honest, which is directly related to why you feel you know a person when you listen to their record. I tie this to how my upbringing was really strange in terms of trying to be an artist. Since my relationship with music is really strange, and I’m into so many different things, it's hard to know what the most honest thing I could do is. You know, what is that? What is honesty? How do you even know what that is? So a lot of what I do is experiment with what feels the most natural. What, at any given moment, can I do organically?
It's taken me a lot of years to get to where I'm at with my development. I’m learning how not to fight music, the path of least resistance, and I’m having a more Zen approach and easy relationship with music as opposed to how I started. I mean, this is part of the reason why I play jazz; it's so difficult. My upbringing was very like, you work. I started working at an extremely young age and grew up in a factory. It was instilled in me that you basically fight your way through any challenge, and that doesn't necessarily work with music. It just doesn't. That's why I was the perfect... what's the word I'm looking for?
It's taken me a lot of years to get to where I'm at with my development. I’m learning how not to fight music, the path of least resistance, and I’m having a more Zen approach and easy relationship with music as opposed to how I started. I mean, this is part of the reason why I play jazz; it's so difficult. My upbringing was very like, you work. I started working at an extremely young age and grew up in a factory. It was instilled in me that you basically fight your way through any challenge, and that doesn't necessarily work with music. It just doesn't. That's why I was the perfect... what's the word I'm looking for?
KT
Candidate?
JM
Candidate... but more negative. I was a perfect victim for jazz; because it's so difficult.
KT
Like a pledge.
JM
*laughs*. Yeah. I would join that cult for sure. It's so difficult and something you just have to work hard to work your way through, to learn every scale and do everything. Over time, I kind of fell out of love with it because I started to realize it didn't really feel the best. I thought, if it's not fulfilling you emotionally, and you don't have that emotional connection with it anymore, maybe there are other things you can explore. This led me to explore a lot of different music, trying to figure out what felt more natural and what was fun to make. I mean, imagine that as a concept, having fun? You know, that's not an idea I grew up with in terms of your work relationship. For me, music was that thing. So, yeah, that was my unlearning. God. I mean, I feel like my whole life is being spent unlearning, you know?
KT
Yeah. I've been having this conversation a lot lately, and maybe it's our ages, but how these paths of getting to know ourselves are eternal. You're saying it might be another 20 years building all of this, but you'll have material for the rest of your life.
JM
You mean I'll never know myself? God.
“It would be a lot easier for me to just say, I write songs about love, you know?”
– Joseph Manzoli
KT
*laughs*. Or, you'll keep discovering new parts, and as new people come into your life, they will also teach you different things about yourself. It's a blessing and a curse, right? I think so long as you're on that journey, you're not stuck. But it means that this relationship with yourself that you're committed to growing will be work every day.
JM
Yeah, definitely.
KT
I have just a couple more questions. What do you think you'll leave behind for the archaeologists of the future? Think very broadly with the term archaeologist.
JM
My bones. *laughs*. I don't know. I mean, yeah, I guess my music. *laughs*.
KT
If you also don't think about it, I think there's something very genuine in that too. I think a lot of your work is very based on the present.
JM
Yeah. What I was gonna say is that I'm never thinking about this. I'm working towards something that is a bigger-picture idea, so it won't come down to a specific recording. I mean, maybe I just make a hit, and that's what I'm known for. I wouldn't be mad. But my whole thing is research-based with music; that's my main relationship with it. It’s why it's fulfilling for me. It feels endless.
Ideally, in music and any art form, innovation should be synonymous with what it is. Anybody doing it should be looking to innovate within whatever their medium is. I basically am exploring, and I will continue to do that for as long as I'm alive. Hopefully, people will spawn new ideas from what I do the same way I do from what other people do. In terms of what people look for in the future, I have no idea. But with my body of work, I hope that it continues to be innovative both literally and conceptually. Literally, in that, I hope to break new ground sonically and discover new sounds and combinations of sounds that haven't been done before. But conceptually is the big thing for me in what I create, in terms of all of these worlds, and a big picture idea.
I hope that is an idea that can be explored by other artists in that they don't just have to do one specific thing. I mean, it's not a completely new idea. There are many artists that have done so many different projects. I've already mentioned Eno. He is, for me, one of the big people who has done a million different genres, a million different projects, both visual and musical projects, and now he's started a Climate Change Foundation called Earth Percent that ties the music industry to being more aware of ways that they can have a positive impact on the climate, as it is one of the biggest at the moment. I look to follow in those footsteps. Once I'm able to become more established, I will be able to use that for other projects that are outside of music that have a more tangible impact. So yeah, archaeologists of the future. I don't know. I mean, hopefully, they see all that I've done and are just like, wow, that looks dope. *laughs*
Ideally, in music and any art form, innovation should be synonymous with what it is. Anybody doing it should be looking to innovate within whatever their medium is. I basically am exploring, and I will continue to do that for as long as I'm alive. Hopefully, people will spawn new ideas from what I do the same way I do from what other people do. In terms of what people look for in the future, I have no idea. But with my body of work, I hope that it continues to be innovative both literally and conceptually. Literally, in that, I hope to break new ground sonically and discover new sounds and combinations of sounds that haven't been done before. But conceptually is the big thing for me in what I create, in terms of all of these worlds, and a big picture idea.
I hope that is an idea that can be explored by other artists in that they don't just have to do one specific thing. I mean, it's not a completely new idea. There are many artists that have done so many different projects. I've already mentioned Eno. He is, for me, one of the big people who has done a million different genres, a million different projects, both visual and musical projects, and now he's started a Climate Change Foundation called Earth Percent that ties the music industry to being more aware of ways that they can have a positive impact on the climate, as it is one of the biggest at the moment. I look to follow in those footsteps. Once I'm able to become more established, I will be able to use that for other projects that are outside of music that have a more tangible impact. So yeah, archaeologists of the future. I don't know. I mean, hopefully, they see all that I've done and are just like, wow, that looks dope. *laughs*
KT
It sounds like you want your work to be really generative. If I think about you being a kid sitting in your room and finding what you've made now, you're building something that can continue being built on by that kid in the future. It's not tied only to you. I forget where I read this, but if you stepped away from your work right now and it would continue surviving, or someone else could step in, it's kind of a sign that you've done enough work for that thing to keep living. That's a sustainable model. Obviously, you're unique to the projects you're building, it's not a direct comparison, but that's what's coming to me.
JM
It is a good idea, though. I don't think anyone's done that yet. I think we were innovative in this conversation. What if the next phase is that all of my projects, DJ Planet Express, Robert Mooney, Ribika, VTX, I just give them to other people, and now they're that person? And they're just taking what I did and trying to push it further. And I can go focus on other things, like racing.
KT
Yeah, yeah. That would be so interesting. Okay, one area you're dying to work in or collaborate in, or method you want to learn? Any of the above.
JM
Well, racing, obviously, is.
“The cool thing about art is that there are a million ways to have this dialogue and have it be an experience for everybody that's there.”
– Joseph Manzoli
KT
Yeah, in our last conversation, actually, you said that racing gave your brain somewhere else to go other than music.
JM
Yeah. I'm a big advocate for this. Racing specifically, but I'd recommend anybody finding something like it for a role in their life. Racing is a really good one if you were to choose anything. It's been the most positive impact on my life that I can remember in terms of my work process. I have become more addicted to it than music, which is great because music was my work, and now racing is my work, at least in my head, which has made music more fun. It takes the pressure off because there's this other skill that I'm trying to perfect now. And there's a lot of parallels with music.
There are infinite possibilities in racing. I think a lot of people just think you just go fast, right? Not it. It's infinite because we're all chasing the perfect lap that doesn't exist because you can always improve. And that's basically what music is, in that it's so abstract. Like, what are we chasing? How do you know when a track is done? You'll never know. At some point, you have to just say it's done. But I mean, it's never actually done. It's just, it's just there.
Actually, this probably isn't related at all, but it reminds me I had a teacher in college, Jamey Haddad, who's a percussionist in Paul Simon's band actually, and he would talk about rhythm and time almost exclusively. His whole concept was that rhythm exists infinitely. It's always going. It's going right now, waveforms and your pulse and everything. With musical rhythms, what we're doing is just highlighting certain moments that already exist. I always loved that idea of this infinite loop that's always happening that you can just tap into. Music as a practice is basically that. It's never finished. I mean all art, I think, feels that way. And for me, racing also feels that way.
Back to your question. Yeah racing, that's definitely one thing that I would love to get professionally involved in, in some way. Start a racing team. I've talked to you about this; I would love to start a scholarship program specifically for young girls who want to race. There's obviously a huge disparity in the amount of female racecar drivers. Racing is one of those things in North America that’s off the radar, or has been, and it's been ramping up in the last couple of years. I think there's a real avenue to explore there.
Beyond that, I think I had been toying with the idea if I could get to a certain level with my music career, where I could afford myself time off, I'd love to go back to school for city planning, urban development, stuff like that. So I can explore that as an avenue to make a positive impact; we've talked about that in the past. Being able to tie that into the sonic experience of being in a city is something that I’ve always been interested in. What does it sound like? And how can you manipulate that, positively? That is a long-term project, maybe something I'll explore in 10 years.
There are infinite possibilities in racing. I think a lot of people just think you just go fast, right? Not it. It's infinite because we're all chasing the perfect lap that doesn't exist because you can always improve. And that's basically what music is, in that it's so abstract. Like, what are we chasing? How do you know when a track is done? You'll never know. At some point, you have to just say it's done. But I mean, it's never actually done. It's just, it's just there.
Actually, this probably isn't related at all, but it reminds me I had a teacher in college, Jamey Haddad, who's a percussionist in Paul Simon's band actually, and he would talk about rhythm and time almost exclusively. His whole concept was that rhythm exists infinitely. It's always going. It's going right now, waveforms and your pulse and everything. With musical rhythms, what we're doing is just highlighting certain moments that already exist. I always loved that idea of this infinite loop that's always happening that you can just tap into. Music as a practice is basically that. It's never finished. I mean all art, I think, feels that way. And for me, racing also feels that way.
Back to your question. Yeah racing, that's definitely one thing that I would love to get professionally involved in, in some way. Start a racing team. I've talked to you about this; I would love to start a scholarship program specifically for young girls who want to race. There's obviously a huge disparity in the amount of female racecar drivers. Racing is one of those things in North America that’s off the radar, or has been, and it's been ramping up in the last couple of years. I think there's a real avenue to explore there.
Beyond that, I think I had been toying with the idea if I could get to a certain level with my music career, where I could afford myself time off, I'd love to go back to school for city planning, urban development, stuff like that. So I can explore that as an avenue to make a positive impact; we've talked about that in the past. Being able to tie that into the sonic experience of being in a city is something that I’ve always been interested in. What does it sound like? And how can you manipulate that, positively? That is a long-term project, maybe something I'll explore in 10 years.
KT
Okay, lastly, is there a song, movie, phrase, or anything you're thinking of right now or in general this week that’s on repeat?
“I'm an artist, of course, but I'm a fan of music even more.”
– Joseph Manzoli
JM
Let's see my current playlist. Okay, no songs. There is a phrase, actually, and it's going to be the name of my next record. It's called Big Life. I don't know what it means, you know, it kind of doesn't mean anything.
KT
Did you see it somewhere?
JM
No, no, I just came up with it. I did it for a caption of a post once, actually, a while back. It was just one of those things that's just supposed to have a vibe, and it just has a vibe for me. Big Life just feels like, we're doing it. We're excited. Here we go, you know? I think it's a massive part of my personality, this vibe, whatever you want to call it. Big Life. That's kind of like my whole thing, really. So, I'm excited about that phrase. And I'm working on a record now with that in mind, just that phrase.
KT
Cool. Yeah, I think that sounds perfect for what you're building. *laughs*. It's got a lot of main character energy, but also, kind of a dream, a joyous thing. You're building a big life, and life should be big, as big as you can make it.
JM
Yeah. I always think about balloons when I hear the phrase. Things are expanding, you know? There's something so playful about it. It just feels fun for everyone. Let's all have a big life, okay?
KT
That's a great place to end, I think. Is there anything else you want to add or you were thinking about and wish you could share?
JM
No. I mean, if anybody wants to race, they can reach out and get my contact through you.
“You mean I'll never know myself? God.”
– Joseph Manzoli
JOSEPH MANZOLI
Born in Toronto, Joseph Manzoli began playing guitar professionally at the age of 15. He attended Berklee College of Music in 2009 on scholarship as a guitar player, and since has toured extensively as an artist and sideman with acts such as Adrianne Lenker (Big Thief), Nick Hakim, Danilo Perez, John Patitucci, and most notably his own project, ginla. While at Berklee, Joseph was selected as 1 of 12 musicians to be a part of the then-new “Global Jazz Institute,” spearheaded by renowned jazz pianist Danilo Perez. Within the institute, Joseph would go onto perform with jazz legends like John Patittuci, Joe Lovano, Dave Liebman, Wayne Shorter, etc. In 2010 Joseph began playing with Adrianne Lenker (Big Thief), and shifted his focus from jazz to producing records in other genres (folk, r&b, electronic). In 2014 Joseph stopped performing as a sideman and formed “ginla”. They went on to sign with Terrible Records in 2015, with whom ginla released its debut self titled EP, and debut full length “Codex”. As a part of ginla, Joseph has toured extensively with acts such as Com Truise, Sports, Nick Hakim, Jaunt, Mr. Twin Sister, Jack Grace, and many others. With their debut self-titled EP (2017), ginla collaborated with renowned concept artist “John Baldessari” in creating original artwork for the album cover. As a producer, Joseph has worked with many different artists across many different genres. Most recently, he produced the debut Sister Ray LP “Communion” out via Royal Mountain Records, and was long-listed for the 2022 Polaris Music Prize.
Manzoli started the label/collective, No Content in 2019 with long-time collaborator Jonathan Nellen. Initially started as a means of tying together the pairs’ varying projects under one umbrella, it quickly began developing its own buzz, attracting other artists, especially locally in Toronto, and now has over 20 releases. Joseph records under several monikers, some of which include DJ Planet Express, VTX, Robert Mooney, and Rebica.