Cautious Clay

On his new album The Hours: Morning, Cautious Clay (the musical nom de plume of Joshua Karpeh) explores the emotional texture of time itself—each song inspired by a different early hour of the day. The album marks the first installment in a (likely) conceptual trilogy that fuses R&B, jazz, indie rock, pop and more into a deeply personal meditation on mindfulness and creativity.

We caught up with Karpeh to talk about how painting and basketball helped shape this new chapter, how time became a creative canvas, and why fun—not perfection—is his north star.

Analogue: I’d love to start by hearing more about your sonic background and musical influences growing up.

Cautious Clay: My musical journey has been really vast. I've always been super curious about music. That probably peaked somewhere between the ages of 16 and 20. My list of influences is all over the place—obviously there's a lot of jazz, but there's also a ton of folk music and classic rock. Everybody from Rahsaan Roland Kirk to Genesis to Carly Simon. Those are just names that come to mind, but there’s a huge variety.

I’ve never been the kind of music person who’s like, “This is my genre.” It’s always been about specific things I hear in songs. Like, there’s this Mariah Carey song I love where I think, “Man, I love the way they used that sample.” I’ll want to create something that channels that energy—but you’d never know, because it’s in a totally different context.

So yeah, it's this insane catalog of musical references and combinations I draw from. That’s how I approach my journey musically. There’s a lot of intentionality behind it, but also randomness. I might be working on something and suddenly think, “This reminds me of the second verse in that one Billy Joel song,” even though I’m not a huge Billy Joel fan. It’s just that I’ve heard so much music over the years and I’ve cataloged it all in my head.

Analogue: Were you born into that? Like, was your household full of music?

Cautious Clay: Oh, definitely. My parents were huge music heads. They both played a little piano, sang in choirs, etc., but neither did it professionally. Still, they had rich collections of vinyl. My dad was more into heavier jazz and even metal. My mom had more of an R&B lean. I think they both went to Luther Vandross’s first concert, actually.

I was raised mostly by my mom, but I’d visit my dad often, and they both gave me a wide range of music. I remember hearing Kind of Blue when I was like 10 or 11. I thought it was weird at the time, but interesting. I was probably listening to Creed or something then. I’ve just always been someone who soaks up music like a sponge. That’s never changed. Even now I reference things I heard as a kid.

Analogue: Some artists talk about “permission”—not feeling free to do something creatively until later in their career. Did you ever wrestle with that?

Cautious Clay: I did, yeah. But I don’t anymore. That shift probably happened before Karpeh, my last album. That project was more of a challenge to myself, to make something that reflected my full journey.

I started playing classical flute when I was seven. I got into jazz band, did Duke Ellington and Count Basie covers on sax in big band. That was fun. Then I got into electronic music, started writing and producing more pop/folk stuff.

Karpeh was me doing exactly what I wanted—getting the musicians together, curating everything. That was the truest form of self-expression for me. And it showed me I could make a contemporary jazz album that actually holds up. I wasn’t trying to be gimmicky. I got people like Julian Lage, Masayuki Hirano, and Immanuel Wilkins—guys at the cutting edge of jazz—to be part of it.

I’m not even really in the jazz scene, but I think they understood I had a deep musical perspective and vision. That built confidence in me—not just technically but conceptually. I realized I didn’t need to feel limited.

Analogue: Let’s talk about the transition from Karpeh into The Hours. Was it a natural follow-up?

Cautious Clay: It took about a year to figure out what I wanted to do next. I wasn’t rushing. During that time, I was playing a lot of basketball, I started painting, and I moved. I didn’t focus on music directly at first. I was just trying to be present in other parts of life.

What I noticed is that painting and basketball gave me the same feeling I chase in music—this sense of presence. Like, when I’m painting or playing, I’m not thinking about my phone or anything else. It made me start asking: What do people actually do in a day? What do I do in a day? How do I spend my time?

My schedule is really fluid. I don’t have a nine-to-five. So I started wondering how each hour of the day feels to me. Like, how do I personally relate to 6 a.m. or 2 p.m. or 9 at night? That led to this whole idea of time as a concept, not as a rigid structure but as something that can evoke a vibe or a mood. It’s kind of a way to make sense of a day through music.

Analogue: That idea of using each hour as inspiration—it’s so specific, but also really subjective.

Cautious Clay: Totally. It’s subjective, but I wanted to turn that into something objective just for the fun of it. I thought: What if this song sounds like 9 a.m.? What if this one is about 5 a.m. karaoke in Tokyo? That’s “Tokyo Lift.” I wanted to change my relationship with time, from it being this stressful, perfectionist thing into something more mindful, more present.

I’m not great with time, honestly. I’m late a lot. Not because I don’t care, but because I’m so locked into what I’m doing. So this project was my way of flipping the narrative. Instead of viewing time as pressure, I wanted it to feel fluid and fun. That’s what The Hours is trying to do. It’s meant to feel like a mixtape of emotions tied to different moments in a day.

Analogue: That reframing is powerful. And you keep using the word “fun.” Has that become a kind of creative litmus test for you? And if so, is it because it's not been fun at times?

Cautious Clay: No, the music has always been fun. But the stuff around it isn’t always. Marketing. Social media. The way personality often matters more than the actual work can be exhausting. There’s so much pressure to “sell” yourself in ways that don’t feel real.

I like some privacy. And I don’t think artists should have to constantly be available just to survive. It’s frustrating. I’m not trying to be a content creator. I’m an artist. So I try to keep music itself fun—that’s what matters most to me. That’s why I took a year to do other things. I painted like 15 pieces. I played a lot of basketball. I needed something outside of music to keep the fire lit.

Analogue: So when did it feel like the next album was really coming together?

Cautious Clay: I was writing the whole time—probably 60 songs last year. But I also wanted to figure out a label situation, something that would support this bigger vision. That helped keep things organized. Even though I never stop creating, I wanted to make sure it all felt cohesive.

Also, I just needed new outlets. I think the best musicians are well-rounded people. They do other things. A friend of mine is a professional painter, and he gave me tips—tools, paint thinners, techniques. I dove into that. It became something I could do without pressure. Painting is subjective. You can’t “lose.” It’s not like basketball where you either make the shot or you don’t. I could just express something visually and learn from it. That was refreshing.

Analogue: How did that feed back into the music?

Cautious Clay: It helped me remember that creativity should be joyful. I don’t want to over-engineer everything. Sometimes it’s about exploring something new and letting yourself be bad at it. That freedom fed directly into The Hours. It gave me room to try new sounds, new arrangements, new ideas about time and energy and vibe.

Analogue: You’ve used the word “mindful” a few times. Is that something you’re intentionally cultivating, creatively or personally?

Cautious Clay: Yeah, totally. This project helped me reframe how I think about time. I didn’t want it to be this rigid or stressful thing anymore—like, “I have to do this by then,” or “I’m late, so I’ve failed.” Instead, I started to think about time as something spiritual. Not in a religious sense, but in terms of being in the moment.

That’s also how painting and basketball felt for me. When I was painting, I wasn’t looking at my phone. When I was hooping, I wasn’t checking email. I was just there. And I wanted to bring that same presence into the music. I wanted the songs to feel mindful, like they’re anchored in a particular emotional frequency. Not perfect. Not over-calculated. Just real.

Analogue: What was the creative process like once you committed to the concept? Was there a structure to it?

Cautious Clay: Once I had the idea of doing songs for specific hours, it started to fall into place. It was fun, honestly. I could think, “Okay, what does 6 a.m. feel like to me?” Or “What’s the energy of 9 a.m.?” And then I’d start writing from there—maybe about waking up late, maybe about ambition, maybe just about the light hitting the room a certain way.

Some of the songs came quickly, others took more refining. But the concept gave me a kind of loose scaffolding to build on. I could be specific about what the hour felt like, but abstract enough to let the song evolve. That balance made the writing process a lot more engaging for me.

VISIT: Cautious Clay