I got into James Blake quite early, like when I was early teen

When Mura Masa uttered the words, “I got into James Blake quite early, like when I was early teen, and that was really important for me,” he spoke not merely of music, but of the hidden forces that shape the soul when it is tender, unformed, and reaching toward the unknown. For in youth, the heart is still clay, easily molded by what it touches. To discover a voice like James Blake—ethereal, experimental, filled with yearning and silence—was to encounter a mirror that showed new dimensions of emotion, a lantern lit upon the winding paths of sound and self.

In the ancient way, we must understand that what one meets in youth becomes the marrow of one’s spirit. Just as the young Alexander, taught by Aristotle, carried into conquest not only the sword but the wisdom of philosophy, so too did Mura Masa carry into his artistry the echoes of Blake’s trembling harmonies. For the things embraced early in life do not pass away; they dwell within us like seeds beneath the soil, waiting for the hour when they may rise and flower.

Consider the story of Augustine of Hippo, who in his youth fell into many distractions and desires. Yet one book, one voice of Cicero, struck him at the core, turning his gaze toward eternal questions. That single encounter shifted his destiny. Likewise, for Mura Masa, to hear James Blake as an early teen was not mere entertainment but initiation—a threshold experience. It revealed to him that sound could hold pain and beauty at once, that music could be a temple of both brokenness and transcendence.

There is a lesson here: we must guard the doorways of youth, for what enters there will echo for decades. The melodies, the words, the teachings absorbed in the tender years become maps by which we navigate storms later in life. Some discover warriors in the tales of Homer, some discover wisdom in the scriptures, and some, like Mura Masa, discover the fragile, trembling beauty of electronic soul. Each of these becomes a compass.

Yet, let us not think this lesson belongs only to the young. For the wise know that one may always be reborn into a kind of youthfulness. Each season of life carries its own chance to encounter a voice, an art, a teacher, or a book that awakens hidden parts of the spirit. Even in old age, one may stumble upon a sound or a phrase that reopens the heart, reminding us that we are never finished being formed.

Therefore, the teaching is this: seek out voices that elevate you, that draw you into deeper wells of being. Do not be careless with what you consume. If music, let it be music that awakens feeling, reflection, and courage. If words, let them be words that fortify and refine you. For what you set your soul upon will become your companion in unseen battles.

And so, practical actions emerge: cultivate listening. Each week, open yourself to one new voice—whether through song, book, or conversation—that challenges and expands you. Reflect on what you felt in your youth and honor those influences, for they shaped your path. Lastly, remember to leave behind traces of your own voice for others. For just as James Blake shaped Mura Masa, so may you unknowingly shape another soul still waiting in the shadows of its early dawn.

Thus the cycle continues, one artist, one thinker, one soul awakening another. And in this endless chain, wisdom is not lost but passed down, like fire kindled from torch to torch. This is the legacy of discovery: that each of us becomes both student and teacher, both recipient and giver, both listener and singer of the eternal song.