KOJO MELCHÉ RONEY
Kojo Melché Roney emerges as if struck from the pure fire of tradition—a young man molded in the searing lineage of jazz drumming, yet wide-eyed and unafraid to dismantle it, to make it his own. With every beat, he moves through the landscapes of Blakey’s intensity, Elvin Jones’ ferocity, and the thunder of Tony Williams, but Kojo doesn’t just play jazz; he summons it, as though the whole weight of jazz history sits in his grip, willing itself into new shape. Under his father, Antoine Roney’s watchful guidance, and in the echo of his mother, Nia Love’s artistic force, Kojo’s rhythmic voice matured. His life has been a study in sonic inheritance and musical rebirth, yet every pulse of his playing signals an ethos that is entirely new. Kojo’s presence in music feels like a revolutionary act—an assertion that the drum, as ancient as it is modern, can shift worlds and birth futures.
Antoine Roney on tenor isn’t simply a saxophonist; he’s a channel for the voices of jazz giants, a rare figure who plays with the spiritual urgency of Coltrane, the muscularity of Sonny Rollins, yet with his own rawness and immediacy. Antoine’s tone is an extension of a past that knows itself deeply—notes that carry the struggle, the triumph, the complexity of a lineage rooted in voices like Lester Young and Coleman Hawkins. But when he plays alongside Kojo, there’s something transformative in the air, a kind of ritualistic joining of two souls bound not just by blood but by the shared urgency of creation. Their duets strike a primal chord, resurrecting the old call-and-response but warping it, pushing it to explore textures and spaces that reverberate with the electric hum of newness. Their collaboration shatters the often rigid boundaries of genre, giving way to a flow that is alive, visceral, and open—a jazz that’s fearless, crossing over into the unknown while still holding onto the ancestral thread.
Now, as Kojo ventures into his own artistry with Psychedelic, his first album as a bandleader, he steps forward as a pioneer of sound and vision, wielding his drumsticks like brushes, painting stories that pulse with vibrancy and ambition. His cinematic endeavors, including Golden Ghosts, don’t merely document his journey—they’re a testament to the power of his generation’s voice, of music as an epic, multifaceted narrative. Kojo stands as a beacon of young virtuosity, drawing in musicians, young and old, who see in him the elegance and power of what jazz can become. He is the continuation and the departure, embodying the wisdom of his elders and the audacity to break free from it. This is more than jazz; it’s a statement, a living testament that, in the right hands, jazz isn’t just a genre but a generational force—a beautiful, relentless spirit that shapes lives and redefines futures.