“It’s not the same with no audience and being so casual,” Tariq Luqmaan Trotter, the MC who performs as Black Thought, says as he relaxes in a greenroom shortly before he and the rest of The Roots record an episode of The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. “It’s a different feel than what The Tonight Show has become and has meant to people for a very long time.” Later in the day, Trey Anastasio will perform with members of The Roots, marking the first time that a musical guest has taped their appearance at New York’s 30 Rock since March. And since The Tonight Show was one of the first late-night programs to return to the studio after several months of “at home” editions, Black Thought has recently found himself charged with a new task. “[Coming back] was about a return to normalcy. It’s impossible to forget about everything that’s going on, but it’s a chance to laugh a little bit and just feel good. More than anything, [The Tonight Show] offers a little bit of escapism.”

Though The Roots were always among the busiest hip-hop collectives on the live-music circuit, they’ve been on overdrive since Fallon tapped them to be his band 11 years ago. Black Thought has said that he views the flurry of activity partly as a counterbalance to his role on a comedy program; his latest release, Streams of Thought, Vol. 3: Cane and Abel, is a bold statement on one of the most impactful times in modern history. While the EP captures the spirit of the current Black Lives Matter movement and the set’s cover art “explores the history of Black defeat, Black revolutions and Black accomplishments coalescing through mark making, realism and expressionism,” the tracks were mostly recorded before the COVID-19 era. Produced by Sean C and featuring appearances by Swizz Beatz, Portugal. The Man, Pusha T, ScHoolboy Q and The Last Artful, Dodgr, the set is the third collection Black Thought has dropped since his 10-minute freestyle over Mobb Deep’s “The Learning (Burn)” on HOT 97 went viral. “This series is about the element of surprise and thinking outside the box—an organic, collaborative effort,” he says. “It’s about getting an artist out of his or her comfort zone.”

Since The Tonight Show returned to 30 Rock, you’ve maintained the more casual vibe of your remote editions. After allowing viewers a glimpse into their homes through their virtual performances, have musicians entered into a new era of intimacy with their audiences?

That connection has evolved. The definition of formality can be interpreted differently at this point. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. There’s a certain level of one’s guard being down and a lack of pretense based on how you’re dressed. When I’m out there in a top hat and tuxedo with tails, it’s probably a little less easy to connect—to identify—with me than when I’m in some sneakers and a jean jacket. 

During these times, I’ve found a wide range of ways to keep busy and to stay creative—especially before we returned to The Tonight Show. I’m a storyteller at heart—I go with my gut, with regard to the medium that needs to be used in order to get the story out. Sometimes it’s going to be the meal that I cook—other times, it’s a picture that I draw or a photograph that I take. After working as a vocalist for so long, I enjoy prompting disciplines in that way.

Streams of Thought Vol. 3 captures the fear and frustration of the COVID-19-era as well as the current Black Lives Matter movement. Yet, the album was mostly written over a year ago.

 I did Volume 1 with 9th Wonder and Volume 2 with Salaam Remi, almost around the same time. Before Volume 2 was completed, I’d already decided that I would do Volume 3 with Sean C, and we started tossing ideas back and forth. The concept was always to be stream of consciousness—to get into the room and not really overthink anything with regard to the outcome. I’ve been working on it while juggling my other projects over the last year and a half, two years.

But while it wasn’t written after COVID, it almost encapsulates everything that’s been going on since February or March. I don’t know if it was some intuitive foresight, but the intention was always to make a socio-political commentary—to speak about what’s going on in the nation and the world, to give a little bit of insight into my origin story and where that fits in with American history. And though it feels like I sat down and wrote this after having processed everything that’s been going on for the past few months, that’s not the case. But, it became more urgent and more meaningful over the past six months.

The lyrics on “Thought Vs Everybody,” where you call out George Washington for being a slave owner and couple his legacy with the actions of the current administration, in particular, feel tailor-made for the current socio-political discourse.

That’s a true sign of timeless art. The idea is to make something that speaks to the moment but that folks are going to be able to identify with for different reasons and in different ways—on different levels—forever. That’s always the energy that I try to go into a project with. I want to be in the moment but not of the moment.  You’ve long blurred the lines between classic hip-hop and other genres. Can you pinpoint a moment in your career where you decided to expand the boundaries of your role as an MC? Early in The Roots’ career, Malik B.—who recently passed away—and I would tour with these avant-garde jazz bands who played very unorthodox music. The measure wasn’t so easy to catch. We’d tour in non-English-speaking countries. And having to freestyle over such a busy sonic background—while still figuring out a way to have your voice cut through onstage and be received by an audience that doesn’t necessarily understand what it is that you’re saying—takes a certain level of instrumentality. A lot of the music was improvised— guttural, visceral.

Lots of our earlier performances, at places like Wetlands, were based on improvisation in a live setting, in real time. We cut our teeth out on the road in front of people. Not to downplay or discredit what we do in The Roots, but The Roots has always been hip-hop. There’s always been space for the voice. Those early exercises taught us to use the voice more like an instrument. It’s something I’ve done as an MC, almost to a fault. A complaint that I’ve heard is that, in The Roots, my voice doesn’t cut through enough— it gets lost in the sauce.