The following is an interview between jazz journalist Morgan Enos and vocalist-composer Sarah Elizabeth Charles. Her new album Dawn features Maya Keren (piano, Fender Rhodes, keyboards, additional vocals), Linda May Han Oh (bass), Savannah Harris (drums), Skye Steele (violin), and Marika Hughes (cello), with string arrangements by Jarrett Cherner, and was recorded in 2024 while Charles was six months pregnant with her second child. Dawn was released 3 October 2025 via Stretch Music in partnership with Ropeadope. Links to purchase the album, view the ‘Mother’ mini documentary, and visit her website appear at the end of this article.
Sarah Elizabeth Charles doesn’t separate her life from her art. On Dawn, the Brooklyn vocalist and composer folds motherhood, grief, and spiritual renewal into one continuous statement in an album written and recorded while she was carrying her second child.
Her newest release was written over four years during which Charles endured miscarriages, celebrated the births of two sons, and mourned the loss of her brother Luke. The title is drawn from Luke’s name – derived from Lucius, meaning “light” or “born at dawn” – and from the middle name of her first son, Tyler.
Supported by Chamber Music America’s New Jazz Works, Dawn is both elegy and renewal; a meditation on life, loss, and the quiet strength that carries us through both. A pair of short films accompany the album, including the Mother mini documentary, which expands on its themes of nurture, identity, and transformation.
Across ten compositions, Charles leads a new ensemble through soundscapes that feel equal parts hymn and incantation. ‘Ground’ opens on Linda May Han Oh’s bowed bass soliloquy; ‘Discovery’ swells into strings and layered voices; ‘Kick’ captures her child’s first movements with joyous pulse; and ‘Mother’ asserts the unseen labour of birthing people.
The record’s palette – voice, rhythm, and string ensemble – never crowds its purpose: it listens for light through the dark.
We spoke on a weekday afternoon, her in Fort Greene, me in Hackensack, both between gigs.
UK Jazz News: How does it feel to put such personal experiences into music and share them with the world?
Sarah Elizabeth Charles: Thank you for asking that. It’s so common – so many of us have experienced this thing that we call miscarriage.
With each record, I’ve pretty consistently said, “This is my most personal one yet.” And somehow it keeps getting deeper. Maybe that’s just what happens when you write songs rooted in your own life. When I experienced my first miscarriage, then became pregnant with our first son, Ty, then experienced another miscarriage before our second son, Jaden – that was what my life was. I couldn’t write about anything else. Nothing else wanted to come out.
So if anything, it just felt cathartic. This was the only record that could exist at that time. Now that Jaden is one and Ty is four, I’ve just started writing new material again. It’s different, but it’s the same process. Through my music, I’m always just sharing what I’m moving through. For Dawn, that happened to be something universal: how we all came into the world. Honouring that birthing space felt essential to me.
UKJN: Tell me about your boys — what are their personalities like?
SEC: Oh my god. Ty – I asked him yesterday, “Do you love to organise?” and he said, “Yeah, Mama, I love to organise.” He’s Virgo beyond Virgo. I keep thinking of Beyoncé – she’s a Virgo too – and I say, half-jokingly, my son reminds me of Beyoncé.
Jaden’s a Taurus, very open and joyful. He just loves to dance. That’s his spirit; he wants to have a good time. His favourite person is his brother, which is honestly the best thing to watch. It’s better than any television show, or any drug, or the best movie you’ve ever seen.
UKJN: You mentioned astrology. Are you into it?
SEC: [Laughs] I sound like I am because I mentioned my kids’ signs! I’m curious, though. I’m a Capricorn, like, in recovery. At this point in my life, I think a lot about nature versus nurture. Watching my kids grow, I feel like they are who they are. Of course, I influence them – my partner does, society does – but since they were born there’s been an essence about them that’s stayed true. That fascinates me.
UKJN: Listening to Dawn, I hear reflection, not self-mythology. The record feels stately, spacious, intentional – never self-pitying.
SEC: I get emotional hearing you say that. Thank you. It’s not something I thought about while making it. In the past, when I’ve written about social issues, I could get a little preachy. Lately I’m more interested in reflection and letting things sit. These songs are like diary entries, minus the specifics.
UKJN: It feels like you’re respecting the listener’s intelligence by leaving negative space for us to fill in.
SEC: Exactly. Especially with these topics, I’m not special.
UKJN: That’s been my mantra lately too. I’m not special, I’m not unique.
SEC: [Laughs] Yes! I think that comes with age – learning to right-size yourself in relation to the rest of the world. Maybe it’s not an accident that the music feels that way. It’s something I’m working on spiritually, too.
UKJN: You’ve led the same group for years, but Dawn introduces a completely new band.
SEC: Yeah. I released four records with the same core group – they’re my brothers, my family. But for this project, I wanted to explore something new. I wrote much of this music during the pandemic, and I saw an opening to work differently, to cultivate a creative space not dominated by cis men.
I’m almost hesitant to say that out loud, because it’s not about excluding anyone. Sky Steele, who plays violin, is a man, and I called him immediately. I just wanted to think intentionally about who I’d been admiring, musically and personally, and invite those people in.
Linda May Han Oh was someone I’d wanted to play with for years, and once I heard her voice on the music, it was obvious. Savannah Harris is a force, and I was lucky she was available.
Maya Keren came into the picture through Caroline Davis. Caroline and I co-teach at The New School – a jazz and gender course, and a graduate course called New Narratives, centred on gender equity. She said, “You should call Maya.” Maya and I met, played free for forty-five minutes, and sang together. We went deep right away. When that happens musically, I don’t take it for granted.
Then there’s Sky and Marika Hughes, two of my favourite string players on the planet. They could play the written parts Jarrett [Cherner, my partner] arranged, and also improvise, meeting the music exactly where it was emotionally. That’s true of everyone on this record.
UKJN: You mentioned writing. Which songwriters really shaped you?
SEC: Joni Mitchell, absolutely. Lauryn Hill, absolutely. Bob Marley. Those three come to mind right away.
It’s funny, I sometimes feel like a songwriting fraud. I’m not as studied in the singer-songwriter lineage as I’d like to be. I grew up a jazz-head. From about age eleven, it was Lester Young, Mingus, Sarah Vaughan, Aretha Franklin, and Haitian compas from home.
I sang in church, too. That’s part of my musical DNA. Some moments on Dawn, and even on my previous project After Life, have that church influence. It’s just starting to show up now in my writing, in a way that feels curious. Maybe not weird, just curious.
When I’m writing, I’m not consciously emulating anyone. Something just starts, and it needs to come out, otherwise I get all clogged up and need Drano. [Laughs] That’s really what it is.
When I had more time, before I was a mom of two, I’d sometimes set little challenges: Let me write something like this today. But now it’s whenever inspiration strikes, I just grab my phone or go to the piano and catch it before it disappears.
UKJN: You’ve long written about social issues. Which ones feel most present in Dawn?
SEC: Gender equity, for sure. That’s close to my heart, and it’s something I’m touching on here. The next single, ‘Mother’, which has a mini doc attached, really gets into that.
I think I’m trying to say multiple things at the same time that may seem contradictory. On one hand, I’m calling for more space for birthing people, for non-cis-male people. But I’m also asking: how can we honour the nurturer that exists in all of us?
We all come from that birthing space. I don’t believe that once we’re born, that essence just leaves us. I think it stays with us, but Western society doesn’t value it. So I’m saying: this isn’t just about women or parents. That nurturing energy belongs to everyone.
UKJN: Any final thoughts for listeners before they hear Dawn?
SEC: Yeah – even if you don’t think it’s for you, check it out and try it on. And if it resonates, reach out and let me know. That’s something I’ve been working into the performance of this project: the conversational and exchange element. I’m really curious to see how it lands in the world.
