Rising funk/soul sensation Neal Francis has just finished a raucous set at the Orange Peel in Asheville, North Carolina, and the charismatic yet introspective rocker wipes sweat from his face and grabs a seat backstage. The dressing room is purposely quiet and calm, with no one except his bandmates and a curious journalist present.
“More of a focus than ever is just taking care of myself,” Francis tells Rolling Stone. “Getting things out of the way that impede my mental health. I’m just stripping everything down to the studs right now and building it back.”
Tearing one’s life back down to the basics is at the heart of Francis’s latest album, Return to Zero. For someone looking to find peace and balance while on the rollercoaster that is the music industry, Francis’ current mindset is a way to process and navigate all the attention he’s getting from critics and a rapidly growing fanbase.
A sonic kaleidoscope of soaring funk, seductive soul and undulating rock, Return to Zero is signature Neal Francis — the 36-year-old is a mesmerizing presence coming through the speakers or across the stage. When he’s behind the microphone, Francis thinks of one of his heroes.
“That’s what makes Iggy Pop who he is. He’s just doing his thing as though nobody’s there,” Francis says. “Of course, responding to the crowd is part of it, if you’re lucky. But, no matter what, I’m going to have fun. I’m having the time of my life.”
That funwas apparent recently when Francis performed at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. Between two sold-out headlining gigs at Tipitina’s and a guest appearance with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band at Preservation Hall, Francis became one of the “must see” acts at Jazzfest, a reputation now gaining traction across the country and beyond.
“I don’t want to make it sound like I’m a Boy Scout, because I’m not,” Francis says. “But I’m just trying to connect with something. That’s my main practice — connecting with people authentically and being of service.”
The dichotomy of Return to Zero lies in its familiarity and freshness, ebbing and flowing between the musical magnetism of 1960s and 1970s rock and soul (Steely Dan, Kool & the Gang, Sly & the Family Stone) and the intent to make catchy, soothing, feel-good tunes in the modern era (à la Tame Impala or Vulfpeck).
“The songs are taking on more meaning as I sing them, develop them,” Francis says. “It’s a loss of self, not falling under the illusion or delusion of self.”
At the foundation of Francis’s death of ego and rebirth of self is his meticulous practice of sobriety. He’s been fine-tuning it for the last nine years, onstage and on the road.
“My life will very easily get upside down if I’m not rigorous about it.” Francis says. “That’s a threat constantly, no matter if I make it [in music]. I had a waking nightmare about drinking again the other day. Now more than ever, [the inner mantra] is, ‘It’s just today.’”
Francis points to Buddhism as his spiritual template for life, most notably the teachings and lectures of Joseph Goldstein, author and co-founder of the Insight Meditation Society. “Everything he’s saying is connecting with the part of me that is endlessly clawing for more, more craving,” Francis says.
Francis is also tuning out of the numbers game, whether it be with streaming services or social media. It’s that simple, yet effective notion of taking the art seriously, but not yourself, or how people may view you. “I’m done looking at all that because it gets in the way, it almost affects the art,” Francis says. “I think my next batch of work is really going to be my strongest, because I feel so connected and [removed] a lot of things that are taking away my energy.”
Emerging from the Chicago suburbs, Francis — born Neal Francis O’Hara — was raised in an Irish-Catholic family that revolved around church, hard work, and obedience. Catholic guilt plagued him as an adult.
“It was kind of like trying to tamp down your shame at every moment,” Francis says. “But, it’s not just the church and it’s not my parents — it’s generational, going back hundreds of years to Ireland.”
Neal Francis onstage at Tipitina’s in New Orleans. Photo: Jack Karnatz*
At school, Francis was bullied by his classmates. He had some friends, but mostly on the baseball team. Francis didn’t play baseball, but he noticed how the athletes got attention from peers and, more importantly, girls. Francis began to connect the dots, albeit with a perhaps misguided sense of self-worth and skewed ambition.
“This version of masculinity I had constructed was one where your self-worth was determined upon what you can do, what women thought of you,” Francis says. “And who else gets attention from women? Musicians.”
In his free time, Francis started taking piano lessons. He also became fascinated with the blues and funk music permeating the live music scene in Chicago. As a teenager, he formed bands and was sitting in with blues musicians around the city.
Like many folks raised Catholic know, there’s sometimes a self-destructive tendency to pursue things as an adult you were told endlessly to feel bad about as a kid, which can parlay itself into habits of excess.
“I carried this juvenile idea of what a rock star was,” Francis says of his early years as a musician. “I get to act like a rock star, and that’s the worst version of masculinity that I can embody.”
By 2012, Francis joined instrumental funk outfit the Heard but was kicked out in 2015 for his excessive drinking and partying. That’s when he embraced sobriety.
“It was how I was treating my body and mind on tour. It’s a lot of lonely time,” Francis says. “I wasn’t doing blow, but there’s other ways to stay up all night. You don’t feel good. It got really dark for me. I couldn’t see the forest through the trees.”
Neal Francis played two sold-out nights at Tipitina’s in New Orleans, and also made an appearance with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. Photo: Jack Karnatz*
Going solo, Francis released the 2019 album Changes to wide praise. All of that continued effort to heal himself (physically, emotionally, spiritually) led to Francis’ 2021 breakthrough album, In Plain Sight. From there, Francis hit the road hard.
“I’ve come around on this record,” Francis says of Return to Zero. “[It’s] half of a disco record, half of a rock record. And then, I’m being told by people that it feels coherent. And it does, because I’m realizing that the content is all directly speaking to what I was going through.”
In truth, Return to Zero comes across as a shedding of skin, a return to one’s true form. In truth, even as Francis remains steadfast and sober, and is able to keep his demons at bay through mediation, what matters most is how he wakes up each day and chooses to be his most real self.
“I’m not pressuring myself as much, and that’s always where the pressure was coming from,” Francis says. “It’s day-to-day. It’s two steps forward, one step back, but I’m moving in the right direction.”
