Smooth jams and upright jazz get a surprise visit from the Bad Brains riff-maker
For most listeners, Darryl Jenifer will always be associated with Bad Brains, the groundbreaking band that helped redefine the possibilities of combining punk, reggae, and Black musical expression. But while Bad Brains remains central to his story, Jenifer’s other projects continue to reveal other sides of his creative life. His instrumental album The Weather Channel draws equally from dub, jazz, quiet-storm soul, punk-rock instinct, and decades of bass playing. It’s built less on theory than on feel, an approach that has guided Jenifer throughout his career. Whether discussing Bad Brains, his new punk project Palm Beach, or his complicated relationship with the word “musician,” he returns repeatedly to the same idea: creativity comes first.
I don’t really call myself a musician. I’m just a cat with a knack, a blessing. A riff maker. To me, a riff-maker or a groove-maker with a knack is something different than, say, a musician.
What inspired the idea of the Weather Channel?
When I used to be on tour and the TV would come on, the Weather Channel was always playing something smooth. I was attracted to instrumental music instead of dealing with lead singers. I was feeling smooth and liberated in an instrumental place. My next project Palm Beach is going to be instrumental, too — all heart/brain/ass riffs off the top of my skillet.
There’s no singer, but you did some vocals yourself.
I’m singing on this record, but the “oohs” and “aahs,” yeah, that’s me. But as far as lead singing, maybe I’m a little insecure about that.
You’ve said that you don’t really consider yourself a musician.
I don’t really call myself a musician. I’m just a cat with a knack, a blessing. A riff maker. To me, a riff-maker or a groove-maker with a knack is something different than, say, a musician. Creating music as an act just came to me; I never took no lessons. But when someone says, “Yo, the C-sharp minor fifth” and all that shit, it’s sort of like a big blanket. I’m like, nah, give that to them other guys.
But you’ve spent 50 years around musicians.
Yeah, and that’s probably why I know the difference, because I’ve been around them. I’ve watched cats that really know what they’re doing, cats that know why something works. I just know that it works. That’s different. I’m not saying it’s better, I’m saying it’s different.
So, what guides you?
I just know when something feels right. I know when a riff is hitting me. I know when something is making me want to keep listening. That’s what I follow.
I just know when something feels right. I know when a riff is hitting me. I know when something is making me want to keep listening.
Does that perspective shape the way you make records?
Well, The Weather Channel is actually a punk record. You know, I made a track for this singer, and when the musicians she played with heard it, they said, “Oh, that’s the dude from Bad Brains.” They said something harmonically was not right about it, and they’re right. I chose to play a harmonic that I knew had no relevance. I liked it; it made me feel good to play it. That’s the punk aspect. Even in The Weather Channel, there’s all kinds of stuff that cats who really play are going to be like, “What the fuck?” But to me, it’s expression.
I hear dub, fusion, soul, all kinds of things.
Well, because punk ain’t really distortion and mohawks. Punk is doing the shit that they tell you not to do.
Punk ain’t really distortion and mohawks. Punk is doing the shit that they tell you not to do.
How’d you get interested in upright bass?
When I started playing and being interested in music, it was more about progressive jazz fusion, not so much like Ray Brown or Miles and all that stuff. So, when I went and listened to the roots, I realized that there was more to it than a lot of the solos and things that were sort of the same. I noticed how different people could approach a song like “Stella by Starlight” and how Coltrane was almost like Rakim rapping, extending bars and doing things that nobody else was doing. All of a sudden, I got super-infatuated with the with upright, so I reached out to Upton Bass and got one.
Tell me more about the bass. What year is it?
It’s a new bass; it was built for me. I like to break in my own instruments. I’m not a big “oh, this is from 1962 or whatever” guy. For some odd reason, the vibes on it, I’m a little weird with that. It’s like the Green Bass: I played this bass ever since I was in my 20s, and we have a relationship. Someone might think it’s just a piece of graphite, but there’s been something between me and this piece of graphite, right from the first day.
Are you taking lessons?
I reached out to a guy that was trying to show me right-hand [technique]. I like to get used to playing where it gives off the bass; I’m used to playing electric and controlling it in this way. It’s different with this upright, but I already had a feeling of it from playing rub-a-dub, which gave me a tip-of-my-finger type knowledge, what I call the “natural intonation of you.”
Say more about this knowledge at the tip of your fingers.
It’s the dynamic of the plucking and how to contour the tone from the pad on my tip of my fingers. I [know how to make] little tweaks to contour the tone. I’m playing to waistlines, and I want the waistline to feel the same.
Yes, sir!
I’m into the pulse, the nimbleness. There’s a primitive way to play and there’s a nimble way to play. I like that lumbering feel, sinking into the pulse, getting into the mantra of it. That’s a lot of these little things — how a bass player holds the bass, his posture. If you don’t have patience, you play whatever you want, but I like [those details].
It’s like the Green Bass: I played this bass ever since I was in my 20s, and we have a relationship. Someone might think it’s just a piece of graphite, but there’s been something between me and this piece of graphite, right from the first day.
You mentioned Palm Beach. How does that connect to the Weather Channel?
If you listen to Palm Beach, you could hear what my interpretation is. It’s less metal, wilder, a little bit more “first and fifth” in the chords. More open strings. My whole shit is down; I always want to describe it like doomsday type, like Sabbath.
Did that come through in Bad Brains?
If it was left up to me, the Bad Brains would sound like Lamb of God or something: tighter, machinist type. But now, when I think about the music that I love — Lonnie Liston Smith, Ray Ayers, Chuck Brown, Jah Shaka, the Delphonics — they all wind up in the same place.
One thing I noticed is that when you describe music, you often describe shapes instead of notes.
Because I don’t really think about scales and all that stuff. I think about movement; I think about shapes and where something is traveling. When you listen to my band the Pyramid, the figure is in the shape of a pyramid, like a sawtooth on the fretboard. I’m not a musician or want to or care about musical knowledge and all that, so I kind of get visual with it. I saw this documentary about pyramids, and I wrote this song that way on the fretboard. There were big pyramids and little pyramids in shape, and I made my music off of that.
When people say [Bad Brains] changed their life, I understand, because it changed ours, too.
Looking back, do you think Bad Brains happened because you ignored the rules?
We didn’t know what we couldn’t do. Nobody told us yet — if they did, we didn’t care. We just did it.
I didn’t know what a composer was or how to write a riff. I was trying to learn Stanley Clarke at home. Then when punk rock came, I said, “Oh — I could make my own shit. I don’t have to worry about being nothing but ‘This is how my shit goes!’” That was a big blessing. When that door opened, I wrote the first riffs for Bad Brains, almost all at once. The Great Spirit gave me a lot of dedication, and it came through in Bad Brains.
And when you were serious about it, you were dead serious.
For a long time, I wasn’t having a good time because I was policing the music. If everybody come in there and just say, “Oh, cool, ready? 1-2-3-4!” I’d be like, “Yo, what’s up, man? Let’s hit it like this. Let’s hit it like that.” And then the other dudes would tell me to chill.
That was your job, to keep the standards high?
Well, when you’re writing the riffs, you want to tell people if they’re not quite doing it right or if they bring their own thing to something someone else created. So, I had to learn to collaborate.
Are you surprised people still talk about Bad Brains the way they do?
Sometimes, but then sometimes not, because I know what happened. I know the dedication, how serious we were, and how much work was in it. When people say it changed their life, I understand, because it changed ours, too.
After all these years, what keeps you creating?
If this is what I say I do, then this is what I’m going to be doing. I’ve been doing the same thing since 19-freakin’76 — wanting to be this, being with these guitars, and making this music. And that’s still what I’m doing.
HEAR HIM ON:The Weather Channel (2026) and In Search of Black Judas (2010). With Palm Beach: F.A.L.S (2026). With the White Mandingos: The Ghetto Is Tryna Kill Me (2013).
GEAR
Basses Modulus Bassstar Jazz Bass (the “Green Monster”), Modulus J-Style, Fender Jazz Bass
By: E. E. Bradman
