Washington, DC: “There were a lot of giants in the room last night,” says Leon Bridges . It's the morning after the Kennedy Center Honors, the annual ceremony where the country’s luminaries convene to pay homage to the pillars of culture for an audience of political powerhouses. This year’s honorees include The Godfather director Francis Ford Coppola, as well beloved singer-songwriter Bonnie Raitt and the rollicking and long-running Grateful Dead. Each recipient is treated to a tribute to their own careers, a star-making moment for contemporary performers since the ceremony’s 1978 founding.

On hand to honor The Grateful Dead? The preeminent vocals of Bridges who, alongside Maggie Rogers, delivered a memorable duet of the band’s “Friend of the Devil.” That was nothing: the night before, Bridges was hobnobbing at the White House. In some ways, the 35-year-old’s head is still spinning. “Last night definitely felt full circle,” he says. “It was a lot to take in.”

When I bring up the idea of Bridges being a classic American success story, he doesn’t argue. Here’s someone who went from dishwasher to one of the country’s most respected entertainers, all while staying true to himself, while enjoying a constant evolution. For evidence, his 2015 debut album Coming Home was promptly nominated for a GRAMMY Award; since then, his live shows have become unmissable emotional milestones. The power of his voice, and music, is that it lends itself to timelessness.

You’ve likely heard his songs at countless weddings in the latter half of the 2010s, for example, or inside sports arenas, saloons, retail stores, you name it. The weight of his music and talent has gotten him places, that’s for sure. “My mother always said my music was going to put me in the rooms with the greats,” Bridges marvels. “It’s a blessing, to be honest. Maybe it’s a testament to my art and music. You gotta have conviction about it. What is it about those convictions?"

Convictions are the foundation for Bridges’ every move, whether it’s slipping into the front row of fashion design shows he respects, coolly leaning into late night TV guest spots like he’s always been there, or having a strong take on art versus reality, on soulfulness versus the quote unquote achievement standard. Today, we catch a few riffs with the show stealer, and leave better off than we arrived.

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Your music has this weight. I’m wondering if the conviction to sing songs with deep meaning just came naturally to you?‍

Yeah, I think it’s something that’s almost innate. But also at the same time, I’m looking at artists like Sam Cooke. Someone like Townes Van Zandt provides a blueprint for making those songs that have gravity. You know, I always say you gotta make them feel something. I try to really incorporate my experiences in the music, but also for me it’s almost like painting a picture of an experience that might connect with somebody else.

From the very beginning, everybody has compared you to Sam Cooke, as well as Otis Redding. And I’m wondering, aside from the musicality of them, did you pick any career pointers from these guys?

I feel like my whole trajectory and career has just been a blessing in a way that God has placed so many awesome people in my life. For me, it’s just like, ‘Let’s make good art.’ My team has really helped my career be fruitful, and I think the biggest thing in this game is having somewhat of a moral compass—if you indulge in too much of, let’s say, certain things, you know, that might be detrimental to a career...So I just try to still have a good time and stay honest, and on the straight and narrow. And that’s really kind of helped me, helped give me longevity.

On that idea of longevity, it’s so sad that both of these guys I just mentioned weren’t even blessed with that. I’m sure you know the story with Otis Redding’s last recording?

‍No, I don’t think so.

He’s in the studio working on “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay” and didn’t have time to cut all the vocals, so he whistled the bridge as a placeholder. He’s then killed in a plane crash and the song comes out as is with the whistles, which fit right in with the theme of the song. It turns out to be the biggest hit of his career.

That is so crazy. When I think about it, I think he [narrowly missed being a] part of the 27 Club. I remember when I was approaching 27 being a little apprehensive because I’m like, ‘Man, I hope I can make it past that.’ Thankfully, I did.

You’re good, and we’re over that curse by now. When you’re compared to these guys vocally, is that a blessing or a curse?‍

I think I always thought those comparisons were flattering. With my certain style, like smooth, smooth, soulful storytelling stuff, you know there really aren’t a lot of references, so I think people [make the association] for the listener to have an understanding of who I am. But ultimately I was just like, ‘Man, I really want my own identity.’ I felt like If I made a Coming Home part two, it would have felt contrived. The fans are always like, ‘Oh, we want the old Kanye,’ you know, the old Leon, but I don’t think I can make another Coming Home. I want more for my career. So that’s what kind of inspired me to change my sound with every project. 

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Fort Worth, Texas. The little brother to Dallas, where the summers are scorching and barbecue is king. Yee- haw: it’s a city home to the Great American Texas Motor Speedway and rodeo culture. Back in the 1800s it was known as Cowtown; the city a national epicenter of the farm trade. Today, a melting pot of musical icons have had strong connections to the city—the aforementioned Townes Van Zandt for one, the iconic country singer known for both finger-pickin’ and drinkin’. In recent times, Phish’s Trey Anastasio, gospel king Kirk Franklin and current ballad queen Kelly Clarkson all owe something to the mighty Texas metropolis. While Bridges was born in Atlanta, Georgia, his lore begins here. He was a fixture on the open mic scene for years; just another fledgling up-and-comer in a sea of them, looking for a break like anybody else. It’s why his fourth studio album, Leon, is a love letter to a city he holds dear. But the fact that it became about Fort Worth came as a surprise to the man himself.

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Why is Fort Worth such fertile creative ground for you?

It was one of those things that I didn’t know this album would ultimately be about. Throughout the process, I just accumulated songs, and when I stepped back to look at them, I was like, ‘Oh, there’s a common thread through all this.’ It’s a lot of nostalgia. It’s the place I deem as home. I’ve been there since I was two years old. I think the powerful thing is a lot of artists, when they’re successful, they tend to leave their hometowns. And I’ve always stayed in Fort Worth. I just really love it. I think it’s really kept my sanity intact—just like going out in the world and being able to come back to Fort Worth and sleep in my own bed and revisit some of those stomping grounds and catching up with old friends is something that’s really grounding. So I think this album was just a love letter to show my appreciation to the place that really shaped me as a man.

For someone who’s never been to Fort Worth, what is that city like? I feel like it’s overshadowed a bit by Dallas. What’s the vibe?

Yeah, man. You’re right, Fort Worth is definitely overshadowed by Dallas. But I think the cool thing is— compared to all the other cities in Texas—Fort Worth really has its own identity. We really pride ourselves on our Western heritage, you know. I think the dope thing is people there are solid, salt of the earth people. Fort Worth still has that small town, big city feel and has a bit of charm to it. There’s not a lot going on, but I can say it works for me because it’s very slow-paced. There’s some great museums, some good food and the people there are awesome.

Did you leave Texas when you first popped off and then realized that you needed to go back? Or did you just never leave?

 I never left. I think as soon as I took off, things were so busy. I didn’t even have the opportunity to leave, even if I wanted to. It’s been cool to see how much the city has evolved. The crazy part is they recently gave me my own day: Leon Bridges Day.

Oh, wow! What day is it?

It’s November 15th. So I recently played the Dickies Arena; I think the capacity is like 14,000 [people]. It’s kind of cool for the city to give me my flowers. It was really significant because the arena is in my neighborhood. I could literally walk there if I wanted to from my house. It’s just crazy to go from playing open mics and to no people, to filling out an arena; it’s awesome. It was a family reunion.

I saw you at Radio City Music Hall in New York and the vibes were off the charts. I can’t imagine a hometown crowd being so supportive. There must have been a lot of love there.

Oh man, it was overwhelming. There’s so much love—to have my whole family there and a bunch of old friends from college and childhood friends. It was amazing.

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When the singer-songwriter Van Morrison released his 1968 album Astral Weeks, the record company forewent promotion and audiences initially ignored it. They balked at the singer-songwriter departing from pop confections like “Brown Eyed Girl” for songs with depth, heart and introspection. Today, it’s widely regarded as one of the best albums of all time. Funny how that works. Bridges used Astral Weeks as a guide when it came to his self-titled fourth album. The legacy is unfolding before us.

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What did you learn from Van Morrison?

I love how in his songwriting he incorporated the area that he grew up in his music. I also love his phrasing; he sounds like somebody who was listening to a lot of the soul music of the time. And then he just kind of took that and made it his own thing. I would say he’s definitely the white guy with the most soul who’s ever walked the earth.

Speaking of white guys with soul, John Mayer took part in Leon track “When A Man Cries,” a deeply vulnerable song. How did that come about?‍

During the pandemic, I rented out this Airbnb and had a little makeshift studio situation. One day I went on Instagram Live and we were just jamming and shit, and John Mayer had logged on, and he was like, ‘Where y’all at? I’m gonna pull up.’ I was like, ‘No fucking way.’ He actually came through and he brought his little rig and we jammed for hours. Sometime after that, I went to Mayer’s studio and we went in there pretty much not knowing what to make. We just started just throwing stuff at the wall. He started this groove and I started flowing over it. When it comes to the lyrics, it first came from a romantic perspective. And I felt like I wanted to go deeper into this thought. There’s a vibe I feel of Black men and, you know, we don’t typically have the space to express our emotions. I wanted the tears falling to symbolize just letting go.

What’s been the reaction to the song from people who hear it?‍

I opened my show with that song and, man...Everybody’s so attentive during that moment. It feels like people are feeling it themselves.

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So if there’s anyone who has seen double, it’s Bridges. Just as his mother noted, his talent has put him into rooms with the greats—and Bridges is unquestionably one of them. He’s graced the White House, filled The Troubadour, crooned across NPR’s Tiny Desk, and spent the better part of the last decade delivering his music to the ears of millions of rapt listeners across the globe. However—like any hero on a journey reminiscent of The Alchemist—Bridges is most fulfilled right where he began. This Texan protagonist has certainly answered the call to adventure and weathered the thresholds of the unknown, and come out of them better than before. And yet he returns: again and again and again, to the cradle of those familiar Fort Worth streets, to the subconsciousness of those inclined to listen and be told a story, to join in a journey. 

Photographed by Kurt Iswarienko

Styled by Gabriela Tena

Written by Rob LeDonne 

Grooming: Lindsay Rogers

Flaunt Film: Tyler Rabin and Jabari Browne

Location: The Django and Roxy Cinema (Roxy Hotel)