Joseph Fiddler: 'Funk is its own reward'

For Joseph 'Amp' Fiddler, success has been a long time coming. But, he tells Chris Mugan, he has never been a man to hurry

A quick glance at the world of contemporary music shows that we are spoilt for choice where divas are concerned, whether it be Missy Elliott's or Mary J Blige's in-your-face R&B, the spirituality of Erykah Badu or the delicacy of Norah Jones. Meanwhile, the sisters' male equivalents are conspicuous by their absence, with hip hop bearing the most obvious responsibility for the vacancy.Slanted toward social reportage, the genre has proved less capable of taking in emotional battlegrounds.

That is now changing with the emergence of a younger generation of singers, among them Tyrese, Calvin Richardson, Mark Ronson's protégé Daniel Merriweather, and Island records has signed the white Londoner Tyler, presumably hoping to match its success with Amy Winehouse.

Though talented, these novices share a drawback: they indulge in vocal gymnastics that mask their soulful intentions. That is not a criticism you can lay on Detroit's Joseph Fiddler, known since school days as "Amp", after his middle name, Anthony. Fiddler's warm, subtle voice lets you know what he is feeling before you take in the words. It helps that Fiddler is no greenhorn but has been in music for the best part of three decades, in which time he has recorded two albums. Today, he is in San Francisco, writing and laying down keyboards with an upcoming hip-hop group, The Hieroglyphics. This, on the release of his first album in 12 years, suggests that Fiddler is actually something of a workaholic on the quiet. "I love sessions and do all the work I can because it gets a few dollars in your pocket," he says, "but it also keep things interesting and keeps your chops up."

Fiddler, now 45, was a late starter. His mother was into classical music, so there was a piano in the house since his childhood, but Fiddler took an interest only at the end of high school. "My mom kept asking if I wanted to take piano lessons rather than play basketball all the time, and in the end I said, 'I guess.' I tried it and didn't like it at first, but then all my friends started playing in jazz and funk bands while I was just twiddling my thumbs. Then I decided to start studying."

Fiddler took two years of music theory and joined a doo-wop group, Enchantment, to gain experience of playing by ear. "It took me a long time to get it," he says, "because I wasn't like the rest of my buddies, who started playing when they were kids, so I had to put in extra work."

His one ambition was to join Parliament/ Funkadelic - George Clinton's Detroit-based group - which he finally achieved in 1984, playing on their albums and tours for the next 12 years. "Around 1978 and 1980 they were on a high, so I went round the studios and tried to hang with them; but it was only when a girlfriend took a demo to George that I got to meet him."

Under Clinton, Fiddler learnt about arrangements, recording and touring, but especially the joy that can be achieved only by a group of talented, well-marshalled musicians finding the groove. "The biggest thing I learnt is that funk is its own reward, that's for damn sure. Music itself is the pay if you work hard. George is a workaholic, and I learnt that from him."

This was a necessary lesson when it came to Fiddler's first album in 1992. The fusion on Mr Fiddler of Forties big band and Seventies funk was far too rarified for those days so the album disappeared without trace. "I've always attempted to sing. I knew I had a unique style, because I was a comedian imitator of voices," he explains. "On Mr Fiddler, I was taking on Duke Ellington and Cab Calloway."

Last year, Fiddler returned to the fray with a brace of EPs, Basementality and Love & War, that were warmly received in soul-music circles. Now he is set to unleash a wonderful long-player, Waltz of a Ghetto Fly - a bang-up-to-date collection of exotic beats and electronica, suffused with the glow that characterised later Motown.

"Vocally, I'm in Detroit right now. I feel in the midst of Motown. I've gone back to the original roots I heard when I was a kid - that hard, high style, which no one else really sang like. Detroit also informs the positivity that runs all the way through Waltz, despite a title that refers to the swagger of men on the streets that seems to have changed little from Seventies pimps to today's dealers. "I'm affected by a lot of segregated people who live in a way that's kinda antiquated. That made me want to show people a different side to life and stop being so judgemental about other people."

So was Eminem's 8 Mile movie an accurate reflection of the city? "It's a clear view of how that one boy sees our city. It's great he's exposed Detroit, but there is a brighter side to the city. There's nice neighbourhoods and nice buildings. The whole city isn't a ghetto."

Fiddler also differs from Marshall Mathers in bringing together different strands of Detroit's musical tapestry, whether hip hop - via the Slum Village producer J Dilla - or electronic beats, courtesy of the house veteran Moodyman. "In the music industry in Detroit, people making house music and techno and soul and rock'n'roll are kinda working together, which makes you write in a different way."

In between the two albums, Fiddler has almost single-handedly raised his 12-year-old son, Dorian, who contributes a sinuous trumpet part to "Love & War". The child's mother holds down a full-time job, so Fiddler took on the responsibility. "I was a musician, so I was there more of the time. And I wanted to be there for him." Fiddler denies that raising Dorian slowed down his second album. "Actually, it helped, because it made me more of a responsible person. I had to commit more instead of bullshiting."

It's testament to the warm regard in which Fiddler is held that he has roped in enough talent to give him the backing he deserves, whether it be J Dilla, Clinton or the ubiquitous Salaam Remi. In the past, Fiddler has lacked a coterie of musicians prepared to see him as a solo artist. "For a while, I didn't have support. Everyone saw me as a session keyboardist and didn't believe I could do it on my own."

Talk about difficult second albums. After this achievement, the third should be less of a struggle.

'Waltz of a Ghetto Fly' is out now on Genuine