In his latest album, Son of a Broken Man, Fantastic Negrito opens the deepest, most private doors of his life. With every note, he embarks on a cathartic journey that delves into family, trauma, and healing. Raised by a father who stopped speaking to him at the tender age of 11, Fantastic Negrito confronts memories he spent a lifetime trying to understand. Through Son of a Broken Man, he transforms these painful, unresolved emotions into a powerful collection of songs that serve as a letter to his father and a mirror for himself.
Despite his acclaim and three Grammy Awards, Fantastic Negrito remains grounded, driven by gratitude, inspiration, and a dedication to honesty in his art. In this interview, he unravels the complex layers of his album, explores the therapeutic power of music, and reflects on how his story resonates with those who may also be navigating the shadows of a complicated past.
In Son of a Broken Man, you delve into deeply personal themes about your relationship with your father. What was the most challenging part of revisiting and expressing these emotions through music?
The most challenging part of making any album is staying out of the way of the process—letting it happen, facing the tears, the fear, the insecurity, and embracing the healing. When I feel uncomfortable, it usually means I’m on the right track.
You’ve mentioned that your father stopped speaking to you when you were 12 and passed away while you were in foster care. How has your understanding of that experience evolved over time, and how does it manifest in your new album?
Actually, my dad stopped talking to me when I was 11. That was the first time I felt the sting of humiliation, and it was incredibly difficult. Over time, I’ve learned to turn the trauma I’ve endured into something productive. It takes a lifetime to sort through the madness, and writing this album has been helpful in processing and sharing this journey with others who are also children of broken parents.
The lead single “California Loner” explores the space left by the absence of a father-son relationship. Can you expand on the creative process behind this track and how it captures such profound emotional gaps?
California Loner is like a letter to my father. We hadn’t spoken since I was 11, and I wanted to let him know how I felt, the good and the bad. Despite his enormous flaws, I loved my father very much. He was a deeply troubled man, a product of an oppressive system. My dad was born in 1905. I’m the eighth of 15 children; he was 63 when he had me, and my mother was 30.
You’ve described your father as strong in ingenuity but weak in fatherhood. How did this duality shape your sense of identity as a man and as an artist?
My father was passing on the trauma he endured—generational trauma. When I was writing Son of a Broken Man, I didn’t want to judge him; he was an African-American man born in 1905, and I can’t imagine what he endured. My goal was to stop this generational trauma, and I hope I have. Trauma can define us, but we can also use it effectively, especially in the arts.
Given the emotional intensity of this album, was there a particular moment while writing or producing that felt like a breakthrough in processing your relationship with your father?
I’m never really sure what I’m doing, and that uncertainty keeps the process of writing and producing interesting. I’m self-produced, self-financed, and completely independent—I don’t need anyone’s permission. Living on a farm gives me the freedom to create. Understanding my relationship with my father is a lifelong journey, but making this album was incredibly healing for me, spiritually and emotionally.
Your music spans a range of genres, from blues to funk, soul, and psychedelia. What inspired you to weave so many musical elements into *Son of a Broken Man, and how do these genres help tell your story?
I don’t believe in genres—those barriers don’t exist for me. Art either engages and inspires or it doesn’t. I feel like four different songwriters live inside me, and while that might be a marketing nightmare, it’s who I am.
You’ve received three Grammys for Best Contemporary Blues Album, yet this album feels more expansive in terms of genre. What led you to push the boundaries of your musical style in this new record?
My philosophy is gratitude—being grateful for everything and everyone. Inspiration pushes boundaries. Think of the first humans who ventured out of Africa; they were inspired. I love inspiration; it’s the most human feeling there is. I never think about the Grammys. I’m just grateful to have this time on Earth to share my creation with others.
Collaborating with iconic artists like Sting and earning praise from Mick Jagger for your previous work is a significant achievement. How have these collaborations influenced your approach to *Son of a Broken Man?
I enjoy the musical hierarchy. These artists opened doors and paved roads for us. It’s an honour to even be mentioned alongside them. I’m influenced by everything.
Your previous album, *White Jesus Black Problems*, explored the remarkable history of your ancestors. How does *Son of a Broken Man* continue or contrast with this deep exploration of identity and heritage?
My family didn’t leave me money, but they left a remarkable legacy. I’m a storyteller through song. White Jesus Black Problems celebrated joy, family pride, and resilience, while Son of a Broken Man is more painful—about self-reflection, healing, and stopping generational trauma.
Looking back on your life, from surviving a near-fatal car crash to restarting your music career in your 40s, what lessons from your own journey are reflected in this album?
It’s simple—never give up. Never take no for an answer. Never let someone else tell your story. My father taught me resilience, and for that, I’m extremely grateful.
Do you think the absence of reconciliation with your father gives the album a sense of unresolved tension, or did creating the record help bring closure?
It’s a lifelong journey. I don’t know how to bring closure, but creating this album has been deeply helpful for me, both spiritually and emotionally. Performing the music is therapeutic.
You’ve had a tumultuous journey, from the streets of Oakland to a major record deal. How did those experiences shape the way you approached the creation of *Son of a Broken Man?
I’m still on the journey. I try to appreciate everything for what it is. Life is filled with both victory and tragedy, and I hope to turn those experiences into something useful.
You’ve described this album as a way of talking to your father. If he were alive today, what do you think his response would be to the life you’ve lived and the music you’ve made?
I don’t think he’d be impressed. Born in 1905, he saw everything—television, airplanes, civil rights, two world wars. It was hard to impress him, which may be why he was so angry.
Your music speaks to struggle, survival, and resilience. What message do you hope listeners, especially those with similar family dynamics, take away from this album?
I try not to want anything specific—it usually leads to trouble. All I can do is create and hope that what I share contributes something valuable and useful to others.
