Feature: A Breakdown of Little Simz' 'Grey Area'

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY LNWY, MARCH 2019

“Allow me to pick up where I left off,” Little Simz spits on ‘Offence’, the opening track of third album GREY Area. “The biggest phenomenon and I’m Picasso with the pen.”

As the title suggests, the London rapper is still bridging that gap between her grime and underground hip-hop beginnings and a burgeoning artistic profile that has garnered praise from Kendrick Lamar, tours with the likes of Ms. Lauryn Hill, and collaborations with Gorillaz.

“I left it all in the music,” the 25-year-old tells me, reflecting on another emotional creative process, following 2016’s Stillness in Wonderland, which put her on the map. “The anticipation has been crazy, which has been nerve-wracking as well, but I’m excited.”

Dealing with anger, love lost, grief and the call to greatness, Little Simz takes us through these 10 songs of intense emotion and lyrical prowess.

‘Offence’

This track not only sets a great tone for the album, but it’s a wicked call to arms. When in the process of making this album did this song come to life for you?
This was one of the first songs we made, actually. I remember [childhood friend/producer] Inflo working on the production. I didn’t even like it, to be honest. It was so different. I think it just caught me off guard. It got me out of my comfort zone. I didn’t like the beat, he didn’t like my writing, but we decided to build on it because I liked my writing and he liked the beat! There had to be an element of trust and we collectively kept building on the song.

‘Boss’

The bassline on this tune is such a good example of how groovy this record is, the rhythmic control throughout is great. Can you see ‘Boss’ as being a bit of a companion piece to ‘Offence’?
‘Boss’ is just me going off, really. It’s super raw, cutting edge. It’s just very raw. I remember when I recorded it, I recorded it on a shitty little hand-held [mic]. I recorded the rest of the album on this really nice, crispy [one]. I thought, “I need to re-record ‘Boss’ on this other really nice mic”, to make everything feel consistent. I thought I could add the distortion and the effects later. So I actually did. I recorded it and it just lost some of the magic. We decided to keep it [the original version] and it turned out perfectly.

‘Selfish’ (ft. Cleo Sol)

How did you get linked up with Cleo Sol for the first time?
I met Cleo through Flo [aka Inflo]. Cleo’s been around for years, I used to listen to her when I was in school. I think what she brought to ‘Selfish’, I don’t feel like anyone else could have brought. When I was writing this song, it was super stripped back and raw. Nothing had been added, no strings, no bass. It was literally just the piano and drums. We kept building on it and it became more and more special. I think we all knew it was going to be something really special from the beginning stages; I’m really pleased with how that one turned out.

‘Wounds’ (ft. Chronixx)

When it comes to ‘Wounds’, the way you channel pain and raw emotion is done so well. The orchestration tied in with your lyricism adds another level of emotion to it. Take me through the significance of this one to you?
‘Wounds’ was a song I wrote when my friend had just died. He was murdered. I remember getting the news in the morning. I woke up to a missed call telling me. Later on in the day, I went to the studio and just sat in the studio by myself in the dark and just cried. Nobody knew I was at the studio, no one in the building even knew I was in the studio. I just snuck in. I just looped a beat and started writing. That’s what started. Before that event had happened, we had the beat for it already. Flo had made it and I just didn’t know how I wanted to approach it. It had to sit for a bit and I knew when I came back to it, it would make sense, but I wasn’t going to force it. It’s a shame that it took that to happen for me to write that song.

‘Venom’

‘Venom’ was me releasing all this built up anger that I had over the years, brooding. I released it all on ‘Venom’.

‘101 FM’

This one reminded me of Jay Z’s ‘Big Pimpin’’ era. This track sounds like it was a lot of fun to make.

When I had made it, I instantly knew, “This was the one.” This was what I grew up on, you know? As much as it does have that ‘Big Pimpin’’ hip-hop aesthetic, it is a grime track. It’s what I grew up on, so that song – as soon as I had the beat, I connected with it so quick. I felt 15 again. It’s nuts. I felt like I was in my pocket, I knew how to sit in it. It felt very familiar. Even after we made that, we made another three grime songs. After we had our little grime phase we steered back on course for the album.

‘Pressure’ (ft. Little Dragon)

Another collaboration that works well even though it might be left field for some, with Little Dragon in the fold. How did that come about?

We had the song and we thought [Little Dragon singer] Yukimi [Nagano] would sound great on it. My manager at the time hit her team up and it just progressed from there. We connected and started talking. We chopped it up. She’s super lovely, super nice. It turned out she was a fan too, which I didn’t know. I thought it was going to be a bit of a long shot, but she was into it for sure.

‘Therapy’

Unabashed confidence and honesty is a huge drawcard here. What mindset are you in when you’re writing this sort of song?

I think it’s a universal topic, therapy and mental health. I think it’s one that a lot of people can relate to. More so at the time when I was writing the record, I’d been told that therapy would be good for me. I didn’t really want to hear it, I didn’t really understand the concept. Going and sitting there in an appointment, I didn’t get it. I didn’t feel like it was something I wanted to invest my money into at the time. I just took to what I do, which is do it myself and put it on record. I guess I wrote it imagining myself in a therapy session, lying on the sofa [with a] coffee table and someone in front of you. It’s like I’m talking to a therapist.

‘Sherbet Sunset’

What took you down this song’s direction?
Love, innit? Another universal concept; something I’m sure a lot of people can relate to. I didn’t want it to come across as a diss track, I’m not out here dissing anyone. It’s just my vibe. To be honest, everything I needed to say about that song, I’ve said it. Even just thinking about it now, I’ve said everything I’ve wanted to say on it. Especially on that one.

‘Flowers’ (ft. Michael Kiwanuka)

As the album closer, ‘Flowers’ is very defined, very weighted. What does this song mean to you?

It’s super important. I’m really proud of this song. Paying homage to the greats, of course, people who have paved the way. Great, great musicians who have graced this earth. [‘Flowers’ namechecks artists who died at 27, including Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Robert Johnson, and Amy Winehouse.]

For me, just looking at my life, where I’m at now and where they were at when … that age is right around the corner. I’m not saying anything’s going to happen to me, touch wood, but it’s crazy how quick time flies.

When I think about how much I want to achieve and how ambitious I am, I’m thinking about how ambitious they must have been,  too. They were so young and there was so much more they could have done and offered the earth. I remember when 25 looked so far away. Now I’m here and I don’t know how I got here, I just did. I landed here. It’s another reflective song, paying homage.

GREY Area, an album by Little Simz on Spotify

Feature: Smino's Guide to St. Louis

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY LNWY, JANUARY 2019

SMINO is making damn sure people remember where he comes from.

“I make sure I do certain events, I do my Christmas event and I make sure I put my billboards in St Louis as well. I want to make it known that I’m from there. I want to inspire people.”

For many hip-hop fans who grew up with the genre as the 2000s beckoned, the St Louis area of the American midwest was pioneered by rappers like Sylk Smoov and further dictated by artists including Nelly and St. Lunatics, Chingy, Murphy Lee, and J-Kwon.

The introduction of St Louis Bounce – a melodic sing-song style of rapping over bluesy chords and beat production – in the early-2000s became the sound of the city.

To look at the city now, the diversity of the St Louis sound is notable. Smino himself is a prime example of how the current generation of Missouri-born rappers are changing up the game.

Fusing slick hip-hop with neo-soul and R&B influences, the 27-year-old put out two critically acclaimed albums in just two years: 2017’s blkswn and 2018’s NØIR.

NØIR ups the ante on his own game, deftly switching between frustrated/punchy rap energy and an almost honeyed singing voice that he became renowned for on blkswn.

BORN into a family of musicians – a keyboardist father, a vocalist mother, and a bassist grandfather who played with Muddy Waters – the young Christopher Smith Jr learned drums as part of his church’s band before he found his calling with rapping.

As Smino, he found his groove in Chicago, where early EP releases found him falling into the same league as other breakthrough young acts including Mick Jenkins, SABA, Noname, and Ravyn Lenae.

These artists shared the same hunger to make music that not only broke them out of the underground, but also brought wider attention towards young acts creating art in some of America’s roughest cities.

“I had a whole bunch of people being like, ‘Yeah man, you inspire me to actually go forward and do whatever I want to do’,” he says about connecting with young artists in St Louis. “A lot of people feel like reaching into St Louis and trying to help.”

“St Louis is a city where, we don’t have a lot, but the people make the city what it is.”

Bari

My homie Bari is the shit. The world don’t even know the half of it.

We’ve been making music together since we were 14, since we were in high school. It’s familiar, it’s comfortable; I don’t have to worry about anything. I can just sit in studio and he’ll play a beat, and not even talk about what we’re going to write about. I’ll record and he’ll record, and it all just makes sense, without even having to speak.

pinkcaravan!

Her music is so dope.

She’s just so good at cultivating. Whenever she does shows in St Louis, I always see heaps of people showing out for her, she’s does so well at controlling her crowds. You know what I’m sayin’? The fact you know about pinkcaravan! is so dope, she’s doing her own thing out here. I’m excited, man.

Matty Wood$

He’s dope. He’s a soulful dude. The music that I have heard has been really soulful and I’ve been like, ‘Oh shit!’.

I’ve been seeing a lot of artists come out who aren’t on some street shit, and I think the biggest way St Louis is changing. A lot of people from St Louis and through a lot of this new generation, there’s been this cool arts scene coming out of it. In the same spot where a lot of these motherfuckers will be on some hood shit, you have next door to it a big old art show going on. A bunch of painters and rappers and writers. It’s a little renaissance in St Louis I haven’t seen in a minute. It’s cool.

RAHLI

He’s been on some street shit, I love it. He’s hard. The energy in his voice, he just sounds like the North Side.

There’s this stigma about St Louis and this is what St Louis is: If you’re from St Louis, you’re from the hood. It don’t matter what fucking part of St Louis you’re from – if you’re from the city, You’re from the hood, no matter where you’re [actually] from. It’s everywhere. Everybody embodied that shit. We’ve still got a lot of street rappers from St Louis who still sound hard, they sound good.

It’s probably the most fun part about doing the album, putting it on stage. I just left rehearsal for my Christmas show [in 2018] that I have every year. I’m doing it in my hometown, so it’s actually the first time I’m playing my album live with my band here. It’s cool, it’s tight. There is a lot of work though that goes into the live show. I’m just looking forward to seeing how it is going to evolve live. It’s an ever-evolving thing with the music; every night you find something new to do.

Feature: The Ever Changing Face of Australian Hip-Hop →

PHOTO CREDIT: Michelle Grace Hunder
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE AUSTRALIAN MUSIC VAULT, APRIL 2019

A cultural movement derived from oppression. A musical genre that has illuminated struggle and identified a sense of belonging amongst the marginalised and in doing so, became an art form of empowerment. It became a unifying presence in communities seeking it. From its beginnings in the Bronx, hip hop has since developed into a dominating force in pop culture today. A simple glance at commercial pop music charts and its prominence is clear.

Internationally, each guise of the genre has represented the unique identity of the society from which it has been born. Links to its African-American origins have remained in varying degrees, however, the development of hip hop in other countries has become a powerful (and oftentimes very entertaining) soundtrack to the changing of many a societal identity.

Australian hip hop is a perfect example of this. From charged messages against racial injustice and discrimination in the 1980s and 1990s, through to the localisation of the music being embraced by the wider Australian music industry in the 2000s and now, with an ambitious new generation of artists picking up the mantle, there is no other sector of Australian music in as much flux as Australian hip hop.

“I’ll be the spanner in the works of your f*cked up plans…”
TZU, 'Recoil' 2005

Cultural and identity politics have been a steadfast foundation of Australian hip hop’s evolution, whether it be Munkimuk’s ‘Dreamtime’, The Herd’s ‘77%’ or more recently, A.B Original’s ‘January 26’, the representation of the financial, racial and governmental fractures within Australian communities has long been subject of artists’ bodies of work.

Though largely influenced by groups including Public Enemy, politically-charged Australian hip hop laid strong foundations for musicians at the head of today’s resurgence three decades ago. Emerging from a thriving creative underground, artists including Brothablack, Wire MC, Munkimuk and the South West Syndicate vocalised issues affecting Aboriginal communities and setting a powerful precedent for expression through rap with that the likes of Briggs, A.B Original and BIRDZ continue to champion today. 

As the culture of Australian hip hop became further embraced by the wider music industry through the 2000s, once more we saw a distinctive voice filter through the beats. There was a notable strive for an ‘Australian identity’ that was less reliant on a heavy borrowing from the US, more on highlighting the Australian lifestyle and the ups and downs that had come with it.

“We’re staying dedicated to perfection…”
Hilltop Hoods, ‘Still Standing’ 2009 

Music by Koolism, 1200 Techniques, Def Wish Cast, The Herd and the Hilltop Hoods became orchestral in the establishment of Australian hip hop’s new chapter.  As ARIA began to recognise the public’s growing interest in the genre, the industry became home to thriving voices including Illy, Drapht, Thundamentals and Horrorshow. A familiarity found in accent and cadence, humour and content matter, gave rise to Australian hip hop with a large demographic of music fans, yet it was not without its criticisms.

The ‘redneck rap’ label is one that Australian hip hop artists have been shirking as the climate for hip hop globally has also been changing. As hip hop merges more and more with pop, electronic and indie music, new influences have emerged. Collaboration with musicians outside the genre, from both Australia and abroad have brought international attention and acclaim to not just Multi-Platinum selling artists like the Hilltop Hoods, but also to trailblazing names like Tkay Maidza, Sampa The Great and L-FRESH The Lion. 

“Pour up the love, let the healing begin…”
Sampa The Great, ‘Energy ft. Nadeem Din-Gabisi’ 2018
 

In the music of a younger generation, Australian hip hop breathes a new and ferocious fire. Urgency comes from the pens of wordsmiths like Sampa The Great, Genesis Owusu, Tasman Keith and Remi. Rising up as a powerful voice for those marginalised communities still suffering, Australian hip hop is fast regaining a platform to affect, uplift and encourage change. The idea of looking back in moving forward, charges this new music with potency and musically, Australian hip hop is seeing a renaissance of classic and contemporary hip hop, R&B and soul carving out a dominating presence within the genre.

Australian hip hop is music that represents growth without ignoring the fact it still has quite a way to go in achieving an ideal balance that allows for new voices to shine brightly. Women, a largely underdeveloped sector of the culture in Australia, are now emerging as key players in taking Australian hip hop forward.

In the lyricism of Sampa The Great, Tkay Maidza, OKENYO, Coda Conduct, Kaylah Truth, Nardean and Jesswar, Australian hip hop has adopted a fierce, opinionated and wickedly charming new guise. Their stories and records stand toe to toe with their predecessors.

For each lover of 1200 Techniques’ Choose One, there’s a mutual love and respect for Sampa The Great’s Birds and The Bee9. Just as TZU’s Smiling At Strangers album entertained while injecting sharp edge into the songs, so too does OKENYO’s defining release, THE WAVE.

“We were fruits from the trees, now you watch us grow…”
Genesis Owusu, ‘Wit Da Team’ 2018
 

As the Aussie hip hop fan demographic continues to diversify, so does the music tastes of the wider audience of Australian music fan. The emergence of Baker Boy, Dallas Woods and Kaiit in the recent peripheries of not just the Australian hip hop industry, but fans too, marks an exciting counterpoint for the culture moving forward. Young, potent musical storytellers completely in charge of their artistic direction, contributing to strength in Australian hip hop’s new guard with musicianship rooted in individual style and delivery.

The history of Australian hip hop and its evolution is impossible to consolidate into a strict framework. What can be gleaned from the last three decades of releases, triumphs and cultural shifts is that Australian hip hop is a genre that continues to look inward at itself, at its history, as new generations of storytellers establish a new identity for the culture.

Artists today are unafraid to acknowledge the failures of the genres past, but also the achievements of those who have come before.

The future of Australian hip hop has never looked brighter.