For Cape Verdean artist June Freedom, island time isn’t a state of being – it’s a way of living.
Born in Boston, Mass., Freedom (real name Pedro Fontes Veiga Jr.) moved to the motherland when he was three and grew up listening to traditional Cape Verdean music like the sentimental morna and the polyrhythmic batuku, which still makes up his musical diet because it “brings me back to a place of peace and solitude, especially when I want to decompress, relax and align myself for the day,” he tells Billboard.
His mother opened a restaurant when he was 12 where live bands performed every weekend. After he started performing with a live band, Freedom says the government would send him to different islands to represent Cape Verde in small musical competitions called todo mundo canta. “But when I moved to the US [at age 15], I wanted to figure out who I am as an artist,” he recalls.
He released a handful of kizomba songs by the time he was 16, performing them in small clubs in Rhode Island under the stage name JR. Later, he moved to New York and began busking in the subway stations with an older Brazilian man “who taught me some things on the guitar and how to project [my voice]. I took 10 years to really figure out my sound,” says Freedom, whose cousin noticed his Freedom guitar case. “‘Yo, fam, you be free when you pick up that shit. You June Freedom,’” he recalls his cousin saying. “June is short for ‘Junior.’ And I happen to be born in June. That wasn’t meant to happen, but it did.”
He’s since crafted and perfected his sonic concoction that he describes as Afro-fusion. Freedom bottles up breezy Lusophone melodies, buoyant African percussion and suave, laid-back lyricism sung in English, Portuguese, Spanish and Kriole — which is Cape Verdean Creole — that’s served best “by the ocean [while] drinking sangria, an Aperol spritz or a margarita with some line,” he explains. And for his latest album, that seaside ambience is an absolute must.
While his mother’s restaurant set up the earliest stages of his career, Freedom’s grandfather’s general store, called Casa Mira Mar, reminded him of where he wanted to take the music next. After concluding his European voyage for his previous album 7 Seas last year, Freedom found himself home again, and returning to his grandfather’s house during that trip opened the floodgates of “the nostalgia of what that felt like for me when I used to live with him. Everything just felt so free and earthy. That’s what the album represents for me,” he explains. On Casa Mira Mar, Freedom dips his toes in traditional and contemporary rhythms, heartfelt moods and foreign tongues that can touch any corner of the world while still bringing the journey back home to São Filipe on the Fogo Island in Cape Verde.
Billboard spoke with July’s African Rookie of the Month about collaborating with one of his concertgoers on Casa Mira Mar, representing Cape Verde in Portugal during his recent Afro Nation festival set, and the story he has to tell Usher about his “Yeah!” high school talent show performance the next time they link in the studio.
When did you know music was your calling?
My mom opened up a restaurant in 2000 and every weekend, there was a live band. I would always hear traditional Cape Verdean music. After a while, I started performing with a live band. At the age of 12, is when it became not just a passion. I was really adamant that that’s what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
What is traditional Cape Verdean music?
There are a couple of genres. One is morna, another one’s coladeira. Funaná, txabeta, batuku. Our interpretation of kizomba. I can give you some examples of artists that you should listen to on your slow mornings. You should listen to Mayra Andrade, Cesária Évora, Tito Paris, Bana. Sara Tavares — she’s the Bob Marley of Cape Verde. These are some artists from Cape Verde that I grew up with in my household.
Outside of Cape Verdean music, what other kinds of music did you listen to early on?
I moved to Boston and the culture was hip-hop, R&B, pop radio. That was a transition for me. I would always get referenced as Prince, like, “Oh, you kind of look like Prince.” I’m like, “Who the f—k is Prince?” I didn’t know who Prince was until I moved back to America. That’s when I started getting into rock ‘n’ roll, and studying what James Brown and Prince did.
At one point in my career, I was doing a lot of covers. I learned how to play guitar in the train stations in New York, busking with my older Brazilian friend who taught me how to project [my voice]. I took 10 years to really figure out my sound and play guitar and listen to other genres before I even did my own stuff.
Outside of Prince and James Brown, which other artists stood out to you during that time?
Jimi Hendrix, Green Day, Usher. The Confessions era was fresh when I came. R&B has heavily influenced my music now because of that era. Even at my talent show in high school, I remember doing “Yeah!” N—a threw me across the f—king room, I did a backflip off someone’s hand and I hit the talent sign. [Laughs.] I dead ass thought I was Usher Raymond, no cap. I should have told him that when I got in the studio with him. I was working on this camp when I was doing some writing s–t in L.A. for some time. We were vibing and shit, it was him and his son.
Like the fluidity and hybridity of your music, you constantly flit between singing in English, Portuguese, Spanish and Kriolu. In what order did you learn each language?
I learned Creole first at home with family. In school, they taught me a little Portuguese, but when I moved back to the U.S., I kind of lost the Portuguese. Obviously, Creole stuck with me because it was what I spoke at home. I went to high school and picked up English. And Spanish is really close to Portuguese, so that’s how we picked up the language.
Which language is the most natural for you to sing in?
English first, Creole second, then Portuguese and Spanish.
Casa Mira Mar translates to “house with an ocean view” in Spanish. Why did you want to name your album that?
My grandfather was one of the few merchants on the island to have basic goods for the people. He lived many places on the island, but where he had that store specifically was in the center of the city called Bila [Baxo] in São Filipe. The neighborhood that he had the store in was the central pit stop for all the taxis and vans. They would do all the shopping there before they go to the countryside of the town.
My grandfather’s store was called Casa Mira Mar. He had a really nice ocean view in front of him. You could see the ocean, you could even see another island across. For me, it’s the nostalgia of what that felt like for me when I used to live with him. Everything just felt so free and earthy. That’s what the album represents for me.
Tell me more about the making of Casa Mira Mar.
After my 10-city tour in Europe for 7 Seas, I went to Rotterdam to meet my producers [Eric José da Cruz and Ergin Dundar] and I said, “Yo, I’m depleted, I need some rest. Let’s do a couple of records and put it out as an EP.” That’s how it started. And then I went to Cape Verde, I went to my grandfather’s house. It was a place that balanced my whole spirit out. I was like, “If I’m going to do a tape, I’m going to come from this place and what this feels like.”
I went back to Rotterdam. I didn’t feel like the EP was concise, it didn’t feel like a full project, and that’s how we built the whole album. It went from six to 12 songs. It took almost two years because I took my time with how everything needed to flow, from the production, from the texture of the drums.
Where did you discover the featured artists on Casa Mira Mar? And why did you want to include all of them on this project?
A lot of these artists happened to be in Rotterdam. SABRI happened to be in Rotterdam. My producer knew who she was. He’s like, “Yo, she’s signed to EMPIRE.” [He] called her, [SABRI] came to the studio. Nana Fofie happens to live in Rotterdam, pulled up to the studio. Another friend ÉLLÀH on “Fé” happened to be in Lison, and she was going to the Netherlands a week later. I was like, “Yo, I’m in the studio.” [She] pulled up, waxed it. Things just happened because they happened to be in town.
Actually, Lua de Santana, the girl that’s on “Dorama,” she went to my show in Spain. She’s a sweet girl. [She] came up to me and said, “Yo, really nice set.” I was like, “Yo, thank you.” We vibed. My whole crew went to grab some ramen after, and she came. She didn’t tell me she was an artist. We followed each other [on Instagram]. Six months later, I’m seeing this snippet on her stories and I’m like, “Yo, this song is fire. Who is it? Can you recommend me the artist?” She’s like, “Yeah, it’s me.” I’m like, “Yo, what?!” [I] sent her a song and that’s how it came about. She was just a supporter that came to my show and ended up being on my album.
Who would you love to collaborate with this year?
I love Tems. Tems is a big influence on the sound that I like. I love Amaarae as well, Ayra Starr. Those are some in the Afro space. From the Spanish market, Bad Bunny, because that’s my bro in arms. Other than that, a lot of Cape Verdean acts like Dino [d’Santiago]. I want to work with him again. Mayra Andrade, definitely, and some local folks. And Sabrina Claudio.
What was your favorite moment from performing at Afro Nation Portugal earlier this month?
Bringing my people from back home, bringing indigenous folk to play some shit with me. That was vibes. I brought up this little instrument called the ferrinho. And we did a batuku and funaná breakdown to represent the nation.
Where’s your favorite place you’ve ever performed at, and why?
The 7 Seas Tour was the coziest thing. London was energetic, so much love. Paris was great. Berlin was crazy. Lisbon was also amazing because I brought all my guest acts from my country with me. But I’mma be real, Paris has such a warm energy. N—as was sweating bullets. It was an hour and 30 minutes of n—as sweating. I couldn’t go to sleep because I had so much adrenaline.
What’s been the biggest “pinch me” moment of your career so far?
The reactions I get every day from people coming up to me and telling me how my music impacts them or changes their mood. This super pregnant girl in Brooklyn came up to me and was like, “Your music is one of the only things that could pacify my kid in my stomach.”
When you mentioned a pregnant woman came up to you, I thought she was going to say, “I’m pregnant because of your music.”
[Laughs] Very likely. That’s definitely happened before if not quite often. It does set the mood.
What’s next for June Freedom in 2025?
I’m already working on a couple different EPs, bundles with the DJs, and tapping into different genres and types of sounds. [I’m] going on the road again and performing songs from this new album.
