Leon Bridges has spent most of the afternoon bouncing between Lower East Side haunts and landmarks for a photoshoot, and at this point the 28-year-old wants two things: A glass of bourbon, and for me to understand something very important. “I can be in the same conversation as a Bruno [Mars] or an Anderson .Paak or Usher—but be myself,” he says.

Bridges has often said Usher's music has served as a formative influence to his own. But up until now, Bridges's nostalgic soul music has had little resemblance to Usher's Top 40 pop.

“I'm easing my way into it,” says Bridges, who was raised in a religious home and wasn't exposed to secular music in his youth, of the sonic leaps into the mainstream on his second album, Good Thing. “I could have went way sexier,” he says. “With Coming Home, I was just out of the whole religious community. I wanted to be true and genuine to that.”

Now, going into a pivotal moment in his career, he wants it to be clear that he's evolved as a musician. This is a time when Bridges must prove that he can stand alongside the likes of Usher and Mars, that he can appeal to the audiences of all backgrounds, that he's a not Sam Cooke zealot who's trapped in a past of scratched vinyl and sock hops.

Shirt by Burberry, Pants by Hermès, Shoes by Clarks Originals.

Bridges, a native of Fort Worth, Texas, debuted in 2015 with the retro-soul rave-up Coming Home. The sepia-toned album took off, and suddenly the former dishwasher and community college-dropout was sharing stages with the likes of Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder and performing for President Obama at the White House. He booked Saturday Night Live and earned a Grammy nomination for Best R&B album. And last year, his song “River” went viral thanks, in part, to a placement on the Big Little Lies soundtrack. (Cue his second Grammy nomination, this time for Best Music Video.) He became the newest savior of soul music. “Every tagline was, ‘Sam Cooke Reincarnated!’” he recalls. “I felt pressure. Out the gate, the expectations were high.”

But Bridges always saw himself as more of a disciple of Arthur Alexander, the lesser-known, country-soul pioneer of the ’60s, than Cooke. “His delivery was very subtle—and that’s actually what I’ve always been about,” he says. “I struggled with wanting to make it clear that [being a soul artist] doesn’t mean I have to be screaming on stage like a preacher.” As for that keeper-of-the-flame mantle, Bridges wishes we could all, well, relax: “I just want to let the music be music.”

Jacket and pants by Willy Chavarria; Shirt by Dolce & Gabanna; Shoes by Clarks Originals.

That desire to simply create music, genre constraints be damned, is what propels Good Thing. Across the 10 tracks, all of which Bridges co-wrote, he toys with '80s-style pop, flirts with jazz, and occasionally dives headfirst into throbbing R&B. No two cuts move in the same direction; instead, the energy refracts from one song to the next, constantly beaming off into new directions. “I didn’t want to be in that box for the rest of my life,” Bridges explains of his expanded sonic palette. “I’m more than retro soul music.” Sarcastically, he quips, “I dig more than sitting down and listening to vinyl or going to sock hops and swing dancing.”

Thus far, he says, black audiences have show little interest in his music, which is ironic considering it's a genre originally pioneered by black artists. Occasionally, this has left him heartbroken. In 2016, Bridges was booked to play the Roots Picnic festival in Philadelphia, which draws a predominantly black audience, alongside Future, Migos, and Metro Boomin, but he couldn’t connect with the audience, he says. “I was broken after that performance,” Bridges says. “And I get it—the whole festival was Top 40, hip-hop-centric. As a culture we’ve moved away from [soul music]…so I get it. But it hurt.”

Jacket by Tim Coppens; Shirt by Salvatore Ferragamo; Pants by Lane Fortyfive; Boots by Paul Andrew.

And earlier this year, when he was announced as the performer for the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo for Black Heritage Day concert (previous talent include Jason DeRulo and Beyoncé), the reaction from both the local press and public was swift—and harsh: “Leon Bridges’ Houston Rodeo Performance Wasn’t Booked for African-American Music Fans” reads one headline; “Why was Bridges, an artist with little relevance in black communities, chosen to headline a night that celebrates African-American heritage?” asks another piece.

The chatter has gotten to Bridges. “I understand that [people] want an artist they’re familiar with, but you have the chance to come and see an up-and-coming black performer,” he says, shaking his head. After a pause, he asks, “I’m from Texas and I’m black. How do I not embody Black Heritage Day?”



It’s a discussion that’s been raised between himself and Gary Clark Jr., who Bridges counts as both an inspiration and a friend and who finds himself in a similar position regarding the audience he attracts. “We’ve had conversations about wanting to be able to cross over and gain our people and still maintain our integrity,” he says. “It’s harder for him, being such a badass guitar player.” Short on answers, though, he says, “I’m just going to continue doing my thing.” Instead, he uses it as fuel. In reference to his Roots Picnic set, he says, “That’s what sparked me wanting to pursue another path.”

To begin that exploration, Bridges and frequent cohorts Niles City Sound (Austin Jenkin and Josh Block) decamped to Los Angeles. They teamed with industry heavyweights like Ricky Reed (Meghan Trainor, Maroon 5), who oversaw production, and Justin Tranter, who’s penned hits for the likes of Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber and appears in the credits of three songs here. Reed had pushed Bridges vocally a few years ago when he made an appearance on a Dej Loaf song and the memory stuck. “I was like, ‘Man, if I’m going to try working outside of Fort Worth, this is going to be the cat,’” he says.

Jacket by AMI; Shirt by BODE New York; Pants by Lane Fortyfive; Shoes by George Cox.

But the goal wasn’t just to go wider, or weirder, stylistically. On the pulsating “Lions,” Bridges sings that “hungry is my state of mind.” “Would you kill for your own?” he wonders a few bars later. “That’s how I feel in my bones.” That ambition bubbles over in conversation. “Coming Home didn’t do me justice,” he says. He's trying to be sexier—within his comfort zone, of course—to compete on the level of the artists he idolized.

Is he anxious about revealing the new subject matter? “The one person I’m nervous about it my mother,” he confides. He can already hear her in his head: “What you talkin’ ’bout, boy?!” he says, laughing as he imitates Lisa Sawyer, the namesake of a fan-favorite favorite Coming Home song.

If Good Thing is light on anything, then, it’s politics. Defiant lead single “Bad Bad News”’ sees Bridges stare down society’s preconceived notions of his limits, but otherwise, the set runs parallel to much of today’s conversations, never turning for an intersection. It’s not that Bridges doesn’t have his opinions—we’re living in a time of “bad leadership” he says, succinctly, before remarking that we’re also in a time of oversharing when it comes to our vitriolic stances—but it didn’t feel right here. “What do people want me to do? Write F-Trump songs? That’s not effective,” he says before cautioning, “The time will come and whenever I put that energy into a song, it’s because that’s right thing to do. It will be because I’m passionate about it.”

In fact, Bridges is, in some ways, trying to say less with his music. “It’s cool to accept that not everything has to be so deep,” he says, crediting Young Thug and Drake as masters in turning the Ordinary into Art. “It’s their own world and their own truth and they make it sound super profound,” he says. “Sometimes I feel pressure [to write high-concept lyrics], because I aspire to be like a [Bob] Dylan or a Van Morrison, but I like attacking topics that are relatable.”

LEFT: Oversized short-sleeve shirt by AMI; Vintage Shirt; Overalls by Lane Fortyfive; Jewelry Leon’s Own; socks by Uniqlo; Shoes by George Cox. RIGHT: Shirt by Burberry, Pants by Hermès, Shoes by Clarks Originals.

That delight in the mundane works, time and time again, on Good Thing. He spools a phone call home to mom into a rapturous reckoning with a relationship’s potential on “Beyond” and considers shirking his friends’ advice and running back to an untrustworthy flame on reverb-lined “Forgive You.” And on the buoyant one-two punch of “If It Feels Good, Then It Must Be” and “You Don’t Know” he finds himself gripped with the thrill of new love and desire. But Bridges saves his best for last. On the stellar album closer “Georgia to Texas” the singer lays his origin story bare—his birth, his mother’s struggle, the hand-me-down-clothes, the lack of money—and in turn, crafts a moving testament to the power of a mother’s love.

As we welcome a second round of drinks—his a Bulleit Bourbon, neat—it becomes obvious that a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other mentality governs Bridges’s approach to both his life and career. “I don’t even like thinking about whether or not I see myself performing until I’m 40 years old,” he admits. “I don’t like the pressure. I want everything to go as organically as possible.” He prefers to deal in the immediate. So what’s the next step? “I want the album to drop tonight,” he says, laughing, at his own impatience. And after? “I want to be in the club and hear somebody drop my record.” And, finally: “I want [people] to see and hear that I’m bringing something different to the table, in the whole genre of R&B.”



Consider it a mission accomplished.

Lead image: Jacket and Shirt by Ovadia & Sons; Pants by Lane Fortyfive; Boots by Paul Andrew.

