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| Eric Mingus. Photo by Christophe Charpenel |
By Sammy Stein
Silvia Bolognesi’s album with eric Mingus ‘Is That Jazz’ celebrating the music of Gil Scott Heron was reviewed on FJC here Silvia Bolognesi & Eric Mingus - Is That Jazz? (Fonterossa Records, 2025) and notable on the recording were the vocals of Eric Mingus. FJC discuss music, life and the album further.
With an illustrious father, a history steeped in and shaped by music of the highest calibre, where the chance to meet and imbibe the influences of many musicians, Eric Mingus was perhaps destined to be involved in music. He is not only a vocalist whose voice has power and an impressive range, but he is also a multi-instrumentalist, poet, and a man of words.
Mingus was born in New York City, the son of Judy and Charles. His childhood experiences included playing under the piano as his father composed and improvised, and accompanying Charles to rehearsals and performances, which was not unusual for a musician’s child. Mingus studied ‘cello and music theory and switched to double bass when he was a teenager. In addition to being highly proficient on these instruments, he received vocal tuition and has gone on to win medals for his vocal performances.
Mingus’s long line of collaborators has included some visionary musicians, such as saxophonist Catherine Sikora and tubist and saxophonist Howard Johnson. He has toured with Carla Bley, Jimmy Heath, Bobby McFerrin, David Amram, and more, as well as performing at festivals globally.
In 2014, Mingus was part of a commission celebrating the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King's 1964 speech in Berlin, Germany, for the Berlin Jazz Festival, his poems being interwoven with music written by composer, multi-instrumentalist, visual artist, and author Elliott Sharp.
Mingus’s commissions have come from Yo Yo Ma, Centre Culturel Irlandais, and he held a recording residency at Looking Glass Arts in Upstate New York. His projects include a duo project with Howard Johnson; this work has continued through the years in duo and larger groups.
Eric Mingus grew up with the distinction of being the son of one of jazz’s most notable musicians, and has worked selectively with his father’s music, singing on the Mingus Dynasty album ‘Blues and Politics,’ ( Dreyfus Jazz 1999) and more recently writing lyrics for his vocal performance on ‘Work Song (Break The Chains)’ with the Mingus Big Band on their latest release, The Charles Mingus Centennial Sessions (Jazz Workshop Inc.).
Mingus works in education, is a judge and educator at the annual Charles Mingus High School competition, and has presented masterclasses and leadership lectures at Berklee, Harvard, UC Irvine, as well as at the Banlieues Blues Jazz festival (Paris, France) and the In Situ Arts Society (Bonn, Germany).
Mingus is a talented and multi-dimensional performer. In this interview, he discusses his journey so far, collaborations, future and current projects and other things.
Sammy Stein: Tell us briefly about your journey in music so far.
Eric Mingus: This might be the hardest question for me to answer. My journey in music began the moment I was born—probably even before that—and it's been intense, beautiful, and painful. It’s not a linear path I can sum up in a few sentences. Music has always been deeply personal to me, and much of that journey is something I keep close, not because it’s a secret, but because it’s sacred. I’ve lived through sound, through voice, through silence. I’ve worked across styles and with all kinds of artists, but the core of it has always been my relationship to the music itself, not to genre, not to career, not even to identity in the way others might expect.
Who were your main influences, and which instruments did you gravitate to?
This isn’t a simple question for me. Everything I hear influences me — from the sounds of nature to music to the number 2 train pulling into Times Square Station. If I tried to make a list of names, it would be long, and even then, incomplete. Some influences were powerful the first time I heard them, but their impact shifted as my musical experience deepened. I was fortunate to grow up around some of the most remarkable creators on the planet — not just musicians, but artists, scientists, and thinkers. That kind of exposure shaped me in ways that go beyond style or technique.
As for instruments, I’ve always loved them all. Any chance I get to explore something new — to touch an unfamiliar instrument, coax a melody from it, understand how it works — I take it. I also build and repair instruments. Right now, I’m building three Intonarumori (acoustic sound instruments) for composer Luciano Chessa, which has been its own kind of adventure. But my first instrument was my voice. Then came the ‘cello. I was drawn to it partly because it was offered in my New York public school, and partly because it was something I could share with my father. The ‘cello brought music to me in a beautiful, tactile way, and it became a bridge between us, father, and son, connecting through sound. Recently, I’ve returned to the cello after many years, thanks in part to the support and opportunity to work with Yo-Yo Ma. He and I have a single coming out this fall — a composition I wrote called 'The Mill (Grinds My Bones)'. It’s part of a larger project called The Mill, which explores my family's origins in the Smoky Mountains (more on this later in the interview).
Returning to the ‘cello through that piece has brought the instrument back into my life in a deeply personal and profound way.
You are known as a vocalist, but you also play other instruments. What drew you to particular instruments?
As I mentioned earlier, I’ve always been curious about instruments — how they work, how they feel, the kind of sound they draw out of me. I don’t approach them with the goal of mastery. I use them as tools — much like the tools I use to build instruments — each one offering a different way to express something: a tone, an emotion, a moment. I play guitar and drums. One of my earliest teachers was my father’s drummer, Dannie Richmond, who gave me a foundation not just in rhythm, but in how to listen and respond. I also play banjo, which brings its own flavour and history into the mix. The instrument itself often dictates the direction — some sounds just don’t come out the same way on any other tool. The ‘cello was the first instrument I studied formally, and it gave me a language I could share with my father. The double bass came later, but I’ve never tried to play it in his shadow. For me, it’s just another way to explore, like any other instrument that ends up in my hands. Voice is still at the centre. But ultimately, I think of every instrument as a voice. I pick one up when it has something to say that I can’t get out any other way.
I have just heard the album ‘Is That Jazz’ you recently recorded with Silvia Bolognesi and others. How did the recording come about, and what drew you to these musicians?
Silvia and I were introduced by a mutual friend, Michela Lombardi (jazz vocalist). Silvia had mentioned to Michela that she wanted to work with me, and before either of us had much time to think about it, Michela fired off an email connecting us ( as an aside, this is what Silvia did to connect Eric and this writer). At the time, I don’t think Silvia or I were quite ready to jump into anything, but the seed was planted. Later, Silvia reached out again, this time with her ‘Is That Jazz’ project and invited me to come to Italy to perform and record. It all came together very naturally. It felt meant to be. Silvia is an extraordinary bassist — inventive, spontaneous, and deeply rooted. She has a joyful improvisational spirit and a fearless approach to music-making. You can hear her deep understanding of the bass tradition, but she’s never confined by it. She challenges it, pushes against it, and opens new space with every note.
She’s also a great bandleader and teacher, someone who brings people together with intention and clarity. What really drew me in was the spirit behind the project — questioning genre, playing with boundaries, and blending voices in a way that didn’t feel boxed in.
Gil Scott-Heron and Brian Jackson were major influences on me. They showed how poetry and music could come together in a way that was raw, political, emotional, and deeply human. That lineage runs through this project too, and it gave me the space to speak in my own voice.
When you collaborate, what qualities do you look for in a musician?
Well, if we’re touring, let’s start with good hygiene — that goes a long way. But seriously, I’m drawn to musicians with good ears. I don’t just mean pitch — I mean ears that are tuned to the moment, to the space we’re creating in, to what’s happening between the notes. I want to work with people who listen and respond, not just play. I look for musicians who have their own voice — their own musical personality — and can speak through their instrument. I’m not interested in technical flash for its own sake. Technique is only meaningful if it serves expression. I want players who can bring the spirits with them. That’s the kind of music I want to make — something alive, responsive, and real.
What projects do you have in the near future?
By the time this comes out, I’ll have just returned from Italy, where I performed with Silvia Bolognesi as part of her ‘Is That Jazz’ project — a continuation of our ongoing collaboration. One of the major projects I’m focused on right now is The Mill, which traces my family’s roots in the Smoky Mountains and reflects on legacy, labour, and spirit. I’m working on it with visual artist and activist Chip Thomas. It’s a deep, multidisciplinary exploration — not just of where I come from, but of how those histories live in the present.
As part of that project, I’ve had the incredible opportunity to collaborate with Yo-Yo Ma. We have a single coming out this fall, 'The Mill (Grinds My Bones)' — a piece I composed, and one that brought me back to the ‘cello after many years. I’m also in the studio now with the brilliant saxophonist Catherine Sikora, making a new record that’s very close to the bone — intimate, raw, exploratory. Every time we record together, something unexpected emerges. And then there’s the Sacred Routes Vocal Ensemble, which I lead. That work is rooted in the full range of human expression through song — from songs of resistance and protest to songs of joy, heartbreak, and even the silly little ditties that make us smile. It’s about honouring the voice in all its forms and creating space for people to be truly heard. So yes — a lot is happening. And I’m grateful to be in the middle of it all.
You are active in supporting Black history and its importance in culture and music – what especially about this do you feel people need to know?
I carry a complex legacy. I’m mixed-race. My great-grandfather was enslaved, and I also carry the blood of the enslaver. That contradiction lives in my body, in my name, in my work.
As a child, I experienced racial violence firsthand — not in theory, not in books — but standing beside my father, facing it from governmental institutions. And as a young adult, I was confronted by it again. These aren’t abstract ideas for me. They’ve shaped who I am. This history, this inheritance, comes with pain — but it also comes with beauty. There’s power in sharing it. There’s healing in discovering that we’re not alone in our experiences, even when the stories are difficult to tell.
What do I feel people need to know? Everything. We are your neighbours. We are your community. We are America. And you don’t get to pick and choose the parts of history that make you feel good. You have to look at the whole picture — the joy and the brutality, the creativity, and the cruelty. You need to know your illnesses before you can cure them. If you hide them… well, we’ve seen what happens. Music, for me, carries these stories — not just the ones of resistance and struggle, but the ones of joy, absurdity, heartbreak, and laughter. All of it matters. All of it belongs.
In ten years, what do you want to have accomplished, and where do you want to be?
I want to broaden the scope of what I do. From the beginning, my creative vision was expansive. I used to stage events that brought together poetry ensembles, graffiti artists, dancers, sculptors — real, immersive experiences. I’ve always seen art as something that should engage the whole body, the whole community. But along the way, to survive, I had to focus on what paid — and that often meant putting my singing front and center, while other parts of my creative life got sidelined. Pottery, woodworking, instrument building — these are things I love, and they’ve waited quietly while I kept going. So, ten years from now, I want to be living a life filled with all the things I enjoy creating. I want to be making space for new ideas and opening doors for other artists to share the stories that haven’t yet been told — the stories that connect us all. That’s part of the mission behind The Mill. It’s not just my story. It’s about lifting up the voices of communities that are still being sidelined — often more than ever — and saying: this is not how life should be. We need spaces where all kinds of expression are welcome, where no one is erased, and where creativity becomes a form of collective memory and care. That’s the kind of future I’m working toward.
What are your views on the influence of jazz on other genres? (hip hop, rap, and many more). Many hip-hop artists sample jazz and use jazz musicians.
This is an interesting one, because I think the jazz that influenced so many artists — across genres — is very different from what’s often being called jazz today. The jazz I grew up around wasn’t a genre; it was a way of creating. It was about exploration, risk, and invention. It wasn’t confined by labels — it was always pushing past them. From ragtime to bebop and beyond, it was music in motion. Creative music. That same spirit lives in hip hop, especially in its early forms. Hip hop, at its core, was jazz. The places it came from were the same: marginalized communities, people using what they had to create something powerful, something alive. What always impressed me was that hip hop emerged at a time when formal music education had been stripped away from so many neighbourhoods. And yet, the creativity didn’t stop. People still had the ears. They still had the desire to express, to build, to move the music forward. So yes, there’s a clear influence — but even more than that, there’s a shared impulse. It’s not about borrowing; it’s about carrying the fire.
Any further thoughts?
Just that all of this — the music, the art, the stories — it’s all part of the same breath. I’m still breathing it in, still listening, still learning how to give something meaningful back. Whether I’m building an instrument, writing, singing, or shaping clay — it’s all the same current flowing through different forms. I’d also encourage people to drop the genre way of listening. Miles did that. My father did that. Look at where Coltrane started, and where he went. Let your ears explore. Don’t sideline a piece of music because it doesn’t have the label you’re looking for. The most powerful work often exists outside the boxes. I’m not here to fit into categories. I’m here to follow the work, to stay open, and to make space for the stories that haven’t been heard — the ones that bind us, challenge us, and remind us we’re not alone.
Eric Mingus proved to be interesting, warm and open to discussion and questions. His answers are profound, and his journey continues….
