Raffy Bushman on New Life, Fatherhood, and the Return to the Trio

Raffy Bushman has been a defining voice in the UK jazz underground for years, carving out a path that’s always been about recontextualisation, risk, and forward motion. From early piano trio projects that traced the shared DNA between jazz and hip-hop, to ambitious classical crossover work with his string quintet, NuShape Orchestra, and Unit 31, Bushman has consistently expanded the frame while staying rooted in tradition. Now, in 2026, he returns to his first love: the piano trio—only this time carrying the depth of hard-won creative growth and lived experience.

His new album, New Life, arrives in tandem with a transformative chapter offstage too, written in the glow of a blossoming relationship and the imminent arrival of his first child. Featuring Matt Davies on drums and Alec Hewes on double bass, the record distils Bushman’s signature language into seven pieces that move between tender balladry, bopping syncopation, and richly coloured piano flourishes. We caught up with Raffy to talk about the journey so far, the story behind New Life, and what comes next.

Raffy, many thanks for taking the time to speak with us. What’s your earliest memory of music feeling “real” to you— not background noise, but something you could step into and live inside? 

Interesting question, I was so surrounded by music from the very beginning, everyone was playing all the time, mostly classical music, but I do remember my dad used to play an old Huey Lewis album in the car, which I was very into ha. Still listen to it sometimes.

When did you first decide to be a professional musician? Was it a single moment, or a slow realization? 

Probably when I was about 16 or 17. Definitely more of a slow realization, although I was utterly obsessed with music, so maybe I should have been an easier decision in retrospect.

You’ve been a key voice in the UK jazz underground for years, moving from jazz/hip-hop trio work to classical crossover projects with NuShape Orchestra and Unit 31. What were you chasing in those different formats— and what did each one teach you about your own sound?

Unit 31 was so many things for me. Because I was able to live there cheaply, it gave me a lot of time to obsess about my craft. It was also a performance space for which I was doing a lot of the programming, so it gave me a lot of freedom to think up ideas for concerts to play for our audience – lots of Jazz, lots of classical music as well as our glaship night ‘Salt Peanuts’ which was more hip hop. Those years really helped to shape my sound and musical outlook, and also probably gave me the courage to take musical risks and make bold statements, like for example with the string quintet ep I did. Unit 31 was also home to lots of amazing creatives and skillful people who were able to help me realise my projects, in particular, the Nushape Orchestra. 

Jazz is built on re-contextualisation, but it can be easy to get trapped in “innovation” as a brand. How do you personally know when you’re genuinely exploring—versus just reinventing yourself to keep up with the scene?

That’s never really been a problem for me, to be honest. My process has always been to study and practice for a length of time and then move into the writing process. The material that I write is generally a reflection of what I am practicing, which is mostly hard-bop and classical music. I do get that there is a very vibrant UK jazz scene, but the truth is that I’m actually quite reclusive – I should really get out more.

What were the early career challenges that nobody warned you about? Not the romantic struggle, but the real realities—money, time, doubt, industry politics, creative burnout. What hit you hardest?

I would say money, but my parents definitely did warn me about that. Self-doubt was a big one for me. It’s easy to feel like you are on the outside of everything when you are going to jam sessions and trying to make a name for yourself, or just meet other musicians. Because I didn’t finish music school, I found myself working back into the scene organically, and that could be very difficult at times. 

The industry is demanding and often unforgiving. How do you protect your relationship with music itself, so it doesn’t become just output, deadlines, and survival?

I don’t depend on my music financially. I think that if I were seeking to make all of my money from making records and playing live, then I would be forced to make compromises. I teach kids to play music in schools, which I like, and it allows me the freedom to make the music I want to make and do things on my own terms.

New Life is rooted in a huge personal shift: a blossoming relationship, then the news of your first child, then becoming a father. Did writing from that place feel freeing, or did it feel like pressure— like you had to “get it right” because it was so personal?

It was definitely one of the better writing periods I have had. Becoming a father is something that is so difficult to describe, but I was feeling a lot, and that always makes writing easier for me.

You’ve said you had “no shortage of inspiration” for this album. What surprised you most about where the inspiration actually came from? Was it joy, fear, responsibility, calm, grief for an old life, something else?

Maybe not fear, but acceptance that making music in the way I have done for the past 6 years is going to be a lot more difficult. That acceptance gave me a much greater sense of freedom while I was writing. 

After years of writing for different ensemble sizes, you brought all that knowledge back into the trio format with Alec Hewes and Matt Davies. What does a trio demand from you that larger projects don’t, and what does it expose about your playing?

What it demands is more about dealing with the members of the band. Playing in a trio is a lot more intimate. You want the other members to feel comfortable to share their ideas and experiment with things. Playing wise, my lack of formal technique is probably what is exposed most in a trio setting, but I enjoy the challenge of having to make my sound that much bigger to fill the audio space.

Can you walk us through the composing process with Alec and Matt— practically and emotionally? How did you divide roles, test material, argue things out (if you did), and decide when a piece was “done”?

For this album, I never actually wrote anything down for anyone, so I would go into rehearsals and teach the guys a piece, jam around on it, and refine it as we went along. It was a really lovely organic process. Alec and Matt do make suggestions which are always helpful, but there isn’t too much arguing.

In “The Leopard” you describe a left-hand repeated figure that lived in your head for about a year before the rest arrived. How do you recognise the difference between an idea that’s just a loop—and an idea that’s actually the seed of a full composition? And what finally unlocked the rest of the track?

I knew that I wanted to use that idea, but I couldn’t figure out how to develop it into a full composition. Adding the melody was a start, but coming up with the B section really unlocked it because it created a tension that was very satisfying when it resolved back to the ostinato.

Now that New Life is out in the world, what’s next—artistically and personally? Are you already writing toward another project, returning to larger ensemble work, collaborating, producing—what are you currently working on that people don’t know about yet?

Artistically, I am back in practice mode, trying to work through ideas, studying all of my favourite musicians and composers, and hoping to get inspiration for the next project. I am also working on a short film about music education in the UK, which will hopefully be up soon. Mostly trying to enjoy the family life, so far so good.

 

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