Little Simz’s sixth studio album, Lotus, arrives in the wake of perhaps one of the tumultuous periods of her life. Back in 2022, the British-Nigerian rapper born Simbiatu Ajikawo was forced to cancel a US headline tour, citing financial restrictions. She parted ways with her longtime manager weeks before winning the Mercury Prize for 2021’s magnificent Sometimes I Might Be Introvert. Two months after that, she released her fifth album, No Thank You, which touched on themes including her navigation of a male-dominated industry.
Then, in March this year, she sued her longtime producer Inflo (real name Dean Cover) for allegedly failing to repay a loan of £1.7m, including £1m to cover his collective Sault’s extravagant and immersive live show – where Simz also performed – at the London venue Drumsheds in 2023. Neither Cover nor Simz have commented publicly on the lawsuit.
This wasn’t just a professional partner – this was someone she had known since childhood. Whether she directly addresses him on the album or not, Lotus bristles with white-hot rage: “You told me to be wary of the sharks then you became one/ What can anyone truly expect from a day one,” she seethes on “Hollow”. But where you could forgive her for expanding this record into lengthy and free-flowing rants, instead she distils her pain, venom and eventual acceptance into 13 perfectly executed songs.
Simz’s ambition has always been as evident in the instrumentation as it is in her whip-smart lyricism. Where some might be content to spit over generic bedroom beats, here she assembles orchestras and funk bands – aided by producer Miles Clinton James. “Thief” plays out like a Hitchcockian thriller: synths swirling like fog down dark alleyways of moody bass and paranoid, skittery percussion. Simz’s hushed delivery is a shadow stalking behind its unfortunate prey. Flurries of violin leap from the ether; spaghetti-western twangs of electric guitar vibrate with malintent; the synths suddenly spiral downwards with Simz’s wolf howl (“awooooooo!”) as she pounces, accusing, “Thief!”
As an actor in critically adored shows including Netflix’s Top Boy, she lends her natural affinity for the silver screen to other songs. On “Hollow”, ripples of harp and sighs of strings bring to mind an Audrey Hepburn film, the rustle of ballgown skirts on a marble staircase. But those are juxtaposed with bars so contemptuous you can envision the curl of her lip: “You’re the highest paid, allegedly/ God’s saving grace, allegedly/ You were the best, allegedly/ But all you got is evil eye and jealousy.” She’s a superb and engaging storyteller, evidenced most on “Young”, for which she adopts a genteel BBC drawl before sliding into a punkish, youthful yap.
Elsewhere, we hear how personal strife has knocked her artistic confidence. Simz, who for years has steadfastly asserted herself, without apology, as one of the UK’s most gifted rappers, suddenly confesses to doubt. Closer “Blue”, featuring the ghostly croons of fellow Mercury Prize winner Sampha, has her wondering whether to pivot towards an acting career and away from rap: “Cos I don’t even know who I’m meant to be anymore.” In those crises of confidence, she acknowledges, it can be tempting to simply play-pretend as someone else.
Rather than withdrawing into a cocoon of her own self-doubt, though, Simz instead turns to trusted friends to lift her up. Her assembling of a cohort of starry collaborators demonstrates precisely why she was chosen as the curator of this year’s Meltdown festival. Nigerian singer Obongjayar lays his chameleonic voice over infectious hooks and playful parps of sax on the Herbie Hancock-style grooves of “Lion”; soul singer Michael Kiwanuka and jazz drummer Yussef Dayes are a sensational pairing on the sprawling title track.
She told her producer, James that she might get in her own way: “I don’t believe in myself right now.” On “Blood”, rapper Wretch 32 joins her in a conversation between siblings, a therapeutic exercise that sees her snap in Kano-influenced glottal stops: “All that pain I ain’t buying/ Yo just step outside yourself for one sec/ You ain’t the only one that’s got s*** suppressed.”
The road to healing is a long one, but on Lotus, Simz has never sounded so focused.
