Musician Don West on why there’s still no substitute for smooth
After Honda’s immersive CR-V Listening Lounge in Melbourne, the rising soul artist spoke to Esquire about analogue sound, the staying power of vinyl and why music should make your drink taste better
By Cayle Reid
SOME KINDS OF music already come with built-in atmosphere. It is difficult, for instance, to listen to Miles Davis and think of anything other than a dimly lit New York speakeasy. Likewise, Ray Charles’ discography is not something that brings to mind a sandy beach. The music of Australian soul musician Don West belongs firmly in the atmosphere of mood lighting and velvet textures with martinis and old fashioneds in the surrounds.
Recently in Melbourne, a similar atmosphere came to life. To celebrate the arrival of the all-new 2026 Honda CR-V, Honda Australia transformed LB’s Record Bar into the ‘Listening Lounge’, a carefully curated space designed to give smoothness a physical presence. It made sense, then, that Don West was the night’s centrepiece.
Performing tracks from his latest vinyl release, ‘Don West – EP’, the rising artist delivered a silky, slow-burning set to a room packed with creatives, tastemakers and music obsessives. The evening felt like an exercise in mood-setting.
“It was cool,” West tells Esquire. “I felt like I stepped into a little record bar in New York or a hazy little joint in Tokyo. Everything was intentional. The martinis were not too shabby either.”
The idea of doing things with intention sits at the core of West’s music, too. While modern music has, almost unanimously, turned to digital production for efficiency and immediacy, West has moved in the opposite direction. He uses analogue recording equipment and live instrumentation to create a distinct sound. The result is undeniably smooth, though West laughs at the predictability of the descriptor. “Don’t you know smooth is my middle name, Esquire?” he laughs. “Only joking, but ‘smooth’ and soul music are synonymous. I’m just a vessel for the music.”
Still, there’s clearly purpose behind the aesthetic. West’s commitment to analogue recording isn’t nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. “It’s my way of showing respect to the craft and to the musicians who were doing it long before I was,” he says. “And having tried both ways of making records, everything sounds better recorded to tape.”
That philosophy extends to West’s commitment to vinyl, a format that has re-entered the music industry with varying degrees of sincerity. For some artists, pressing to wax is simply marketing and an attempt to appear alternative. For West, it’s fundamental to the listening experience itself. “My music was written and recorded on analogue gear, to be listened to on analogue gear,” he says. “Just like a paperback book, vinyl makes a record tangible.”
He pauses before adding another crucial detail: “Part of the allure of vinyl is the cover art. It’s just another aspect of what makes them so desirable.” That tactile sensibility is perhaps why Honda’s Listening Lounge resonated so strongly with him. Rather than treating music as background noise to a product reveal, the event centred listening itself. “The listening lounge was a purpose-built environment for listening to my music,” he says. “It doesn’t get much better than that. Kudos to you Honda.”
There’s an easy parallel between West’s artistry and the ethos behind the new CR-V. Both lean heavily on refinement over excess. Honda describes the SUV’s next-generation hybrid system as “effortlessly smooth”, and West’s records operate much the same way.
Authenticity, of course, is the thing that determines whether a brand collaboration sinks or swims. West’s criteria for alignment, however, is refreshingly uncomplicated. “Our taste in music and cocktails,” he says. “And they [Honda] were on the money with both.”
Despite the vintage textures running through his work, West resists becoming trapped by retro worship. His music nods lovingly to the soul greats of the ’60s and ’70s, but doesn’t attempt to imitate them. “I’m always paying homage to ’60s and ’70s soul,” he explains, “but I take inspiration from the classics and interpret them in my own way.”
That balancing act is what gives his music its sense of timelessness. It’s familiar without feeling derivative. When asked what he ultimately hopes listeners take from his music, his answer is characteristically open-ended. “It’s not for me to decide what a listener should feel,” he says. “But I do hope my music helps them feel any which way they need to be feeling. I hope it helps mend a broken heart, makes the sun a little brighter as you walk down the street, or makes that drink taste a little sweeter.”
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