Chad Kouri’s debut album Mixed feels like both an arrival and a return. It’s a record built on improvisation, memory, and spirit, where melody emerges from presence and rhythm becomes a form of inquiry. Drawing from ancestral threads and everyday sounds, Kouri creates a listening space that feels open and reflective. Saxophone lines move alongside shakers, bells, field recordings, and stray bits of modern life. Each element contributes to an atmosphere that’s porous and resonant, offering sound as a way to hold complexity without needing to resolve it. Rather than aiming for clarity or control, Mixed invites us to sit with what unfolds and consider how listening might also be a kind of healing.
Kouri is known for his long-standing visual art and community work in Chicago, with commissions from major institutions and a deep commitment to art as a tool for connection. In recent years, he has turned more fully toward sound, guided by mentorship from figures like Douglas R. Ewart, Vincent Davis, and Isaiah Collier. These relationships helped dissolve old boundaries between art forms and offered new ways to think about purpose and process. In this conversation, we explore how sound shapes experience, how improvisation informs daily life, and what it means to move through the world with curiosity and care.
Mixed is out now and available HERE.
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After years of focusing on visual art and non-performing musical practices, what led you to fully re-engage with the saxophone and your music practice during the pandemic?
I’ve always known that music brings me more joy than most anything else. While in high school, I considered studying music in college but felt it was too close to my heart to make it my profession. I didn’t want money to dictate how I moved through my love and presentation of music. So, I kept it safe as a personal practice. I was also told a lot in my formative years that I needed to be one thing: a dancer, a musician, a graphic designer, a painter. When the pandemic hit, I felt like it was more important than ever to make room for joy and pleasure wherever I could. Fully engaging back in something that brought me a lot of joy in my early life felt like an important move. At the time, there was very little work for my visual art studio, as most of my commissions were for public gathering spaces, so I had the time and capacity to really dive back in.
How did your conversations with Douglas R. Ewart and mentorship from Vincent Davis and Isaiah Collier influence not just your playing, but your way of thinking about art and life?
Early conversations with Baba Douglas helped me unlearn the compartmentalization of practice that had been ingrained in me through more traditional learning. More specifically, that what we do as artists is not a “performance” but rather a glimpse into how we live our lives every day. So, standing and living fully in my truth, rather than focusing on a skill set that serves capitalism, was something that Douglas gave me permission to do, more so in his actions than in his words. Douglas Ewart is many things: a musician, a poet, a visual artist, he makes his own clothing and instruments. He is entirely a creative soul and spirit.
Vincent was very good about helping me change my mindset from what I am doing to why I am doing it. I had been so focused on technical proficiency and perfectionism when playing an instrument that it stopped me from playing altogether. Douglas and Vincent are also avid readers of non-fiction, which has led me to find my rhythm with investigation and research into life and living rather than just reading to collect information for capitalistic endeavors. Isaiah has always been really good about keeping me accountable to my practice. Always asking me where my horn is when showing up to open jams to listen. Asking what I’m working on and inviting me over to study together. All three of these men remind me to lead with curiosity and do the work that I was put on this earth to do.
Mixed feels like more than a record, it feels like a meditation on ancestry, identity, and healing. When did you realize that these threads would become the heart of the album?
These themes have been at the heart of my various creative practices for quite some time. They existed long before I had any ideas about this record and will continue onward after the release. A better question is, when did I realize that I wanted to make a record that honored these ideas? Although that might be difficult to answer as well. With the amount of time I had been spending on saxophone performance and study, I wanted to capture a timeline of my progress in some way. This started as a practice of recording all my lessons and performances and listening back to them soon after for study and reflection, which is something Vincent encourages. Once I had a good collection of recordings, I began to consider what it would be like to release a compilation of these live improvisations and performances rather than taking the typical path of writing tunes and recording them in a studio with a band. That approach seemed very much in line with my fine art practice. Collecting bits and pieces of skills, materials, techniques, etc., and putting them all together to make something new. So, it felt natural to approach the music with the same mindset and intention.
You draw sounds from so many sources — instruments, machines, room noise. How do you know when a sound belongs inside a piece?
It’s not really about knowing; it’s more about acceptance. I often don’t pick the sounds. They pick me. And it’s my job to work with them in a way that feels like it serves my intentions. Vincent always says that you can prepare all you want, but the day off, you are left with what you are given on that particular day. That has been a daily practice of mine, even before I studied with him. So much of what brings us pain and stress on a daily basis is out of our control. Rather than hyper-focusing on how to avoid or change the circumstances, I’ve found it more empowering to focus on my inner world and do my best to react in a way that doesn’t bring me more chaos. In music, I have a very similar approach, although sometimes a little sonic chaos is just what the doctor ordered. More often than not, it’s about awareness and acceptance rather than curating and confining.
Improvisation seems to sit at the center of your practice, not just musically, but philosophically. What has improvisation taught you about living?
Good ear 🙂 Yes, improvisation is a key component of my creative process. I often compare my visual art practice to that of an improving musician. Because of my dyslexia and my mixed ancestry, lots of my time as a younger person was spent navigating scenarios that I couldn’t predict or prepare for in a neurotypical way. So, I was left to develop my own systems. The “yes, and” approach doesn’t only fit improv comedy. It can be a way of moving through the world. Being open to change and influence can be very freeing. However, too much can be stifling and soul-crushing. Finding balance is key. Balance between bringing a sharp toolbox of methods and approaches while also accepting the things you can’t change is a method of acceptance and love. All that being said, I think some of what I shared in your previous question gives more context here as well.
Your album explores spirit work and healing energy. Were there particular rituals, meditations, or practices you drew from while making the record?
Meditation and ritual have been tools I’ve used often over the past decade. In fact, after studying a few different approaches, I realized that a lot of what I did felt like meditation. Cooking, yard work, cleaning, resting. Same with ritual. Looking back at my mixed ancestry, as well as the fact that most of my parents’ ancestors passed before I was born or shortly after, I have been left to create my own rituals and coping strategies.
In your work, joy and healing aren’t treated as frivolous, they feel serious and vital. What does “radical joy” mean to you now?
Lots of things in our world are working to keep us oppressed. Numb us. Keep us just fed enough to make us feel like we are making progress. On top of all this, the 24/7 news cycle fills our feeds and screens with violence, chaos, and injustice. These are all tools of capitalism to keep us tired, divided, and obedient. When I talk about radical joy, it’s about finding time for pleasure in the face of it all as a form of resistance. Much easier said than done. And the scale can be vastly different. Indulging in your favorite food. Having a pet. Dancing, singing, being with loved ones. All of these things empower and recharge us to face our battles. Let me be clear here… we aren’t talking about toxic positivity, blindly prioritizing the glass-half-full approach to a point where pain, struggle, and stress are not allowed. We are talking about awareness, self-determination, and balance.
Mixed draws upon spirit work and ancestral memory. How has reconnecting with these threads — through sound — changed your relationship to your own past and future?
Both my paternal and maternal grandfathers passed when my parents were teenagers, and my grandmothers passed before I was an adult, so finding access to this ancestral knowledge has always been very difficult. Being mixed-race makes it hard to find and build community with people who share my ancestry as I’m always not Arab enough or not Sicilian enough, not Spanish enough, etc. A lot of the Whiteness that I’ve experienced and have been told to align with has been about erasing history and staying focused on “progress” and the future. This approach was all about safety for my parents and their parents, but things are different in our current times. Working to reconnect with these histories—especially ones that are older than America itself—has been very grounding. And music has been a great way to help me find my people. Even if we share different ancestry, it is rewarding to be around folks who are thinking about legacy, ancestry, and tradition, and it motivates me to do the same. A lot of what I learn from folks can’t be typed into a search field as I often don’t even know the question. Through candid conversations and curiosity, I have gained a great deal of insight into myself and my broad ancestral history.
As you move forward, how do you hope your music, visual art, and community practices will continue to participate in personal and collective healing?
I don’t often tie my work to the expectation of participation. This usually cripples my creativity. I just continue to do the work that I feel is important and do my best to set a good example for others who are trying to do the same. What I hope for is that my work remains relevant and continues to be a somewhat sustainable practice, financially, so that I don’t have to devote more and more of my time to less enjoyable and less emotionally fulfilling endeavors.
If you could send one sound, one sonic message, 200 years into the future, what would it be, and why?
Wow, what a question! Haha. The first thing that came to mind was “Love is Everywhere” by Pharoah Sanders. It’s a great reminder that there is good in our world; we just need to look for it. Speak it into existence. Another option would be a 963 Hz frequency drone, which promotes oneness and spiritual connection and elevates our consciousness.
To close, as always, what are some of your favorite sounds in the world?
Lately, I’ve really enjoyed the sound of birds. Playful, celebratory, lively. Wind through the trees also comes to mind. Waves hitting the shore. Friends’ laughter. Songs made for the dance floor. My dad playfully singing around the house when he hears a word that is in the lyrics to a song he knows. Someone taking a deep and grounding breath. I’m sure there are a lot more, but this is what comes to mind at the moment.
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