Little Simz: "Wings" (via SoundCloud)
It’s rare to know what you want to do with your life at age 10—but that’s precisely how old Simbi Ajikawo was when she wrote her first song, “Achieve Achieve Achieve”. Sitting in a studio in her native London, the 21-year-old recites those early lyrics: “In 10 years, I want to be a performer that can entertain/ And still remain to do good things in life without having to go through strife.” The artist now known as Little Simz repeats those same words once more in plainspoken awe, struck by her soothsaying gifts. “Back then, none of my friends were thinking as far ahead about what they wanted to be,” she says. “But I’ve always been the forward-thinking type.”
Simz is well aware of the power of her own story, which forms the backdrop of her triumphant recent debut album, A Curious Tale of Trials + Persons: The girl who was denied studio time in her teens, who saved up her Saturday job money to buy her own mic and start honing her craft in her bedroom, keeping her poor neighbor up all night in the process. Finding solace in the music of Lauryn Hill, Missy Elliott, and Dizzee Rascal, she taught herself to produce tracks and edit music videos. While other kids spent their summers waging water fights, Simz was recording one song after the other.
Little Simz: "Lane Switch" (via SoundCloud)
Over the last couple of years, she’s released a steady flow of mixtapes online, garnering nearly 50,000 SoundCloud followers as well as a co-signs from Mos Def, J. Cole, and Kendrick Lamar, who said Simz “might be the illest doing it now” earlier this year. Lamar’s appreciation makes sense given the stylistic diversity and intense themes of A Curious Tale, which skips from boho boom-bap to hard-knuckled grime to airless trap as Simz paints a vivid picture of the inner workings of her own brain. The dramatic “Full or Empty” boasts the scope of her artistry, as Simz dodges between anxiety, fury, and frenzy while contemplating a fulfilling creative life; meanwhile, widescreen strings and a whopping guitar solo worthy of Janelle Monáe or Miguel billows like a ragged flag in the background.
Received wisdom is that millennials know how to frame the best parts of their own narratives thanks to social media, but Simz’s motivation to inspire came from closer to home. She was the youngest sibling, until her mum became a foster parent to kids who were trying to find better lives in the UK. “I didn’t want them to think I wasn’t taking advantage of the opportunities I have here,” she says. “I'm not one to take things for granted.” In another decade’s time, she wants to open her own school. In the meantime, though, she’s just passed her driving test—the first step to moving out of her mum’s house.
Even as Simz is still at the beginning of her artistic path, she carries herself with the unshakeable poise of someone who’s already achieved everything she set out to, while nurturing a vast ambition. Her sheer presence is not up for question. The second I turn off my tape, she shakes my hand and gets on her phone, trying to buy a car to make use of her brand new licence.
Pitchfork: The most striking thing about A Curious Tale is your confidence. Have you always felt so self-assured?
Little Simz: It was definitely something that my mum instilled in me young. In real life, I'm not the center of attention; I'm in the back and I listen. So when it comes to writing, I just let it all out. That is another me—but it's not a character, either. It's just me expressing myself. And it's always nice to get your things off your chest. I'm not a person who’s that open. I won’t come up to someone and be like, “Yo, I've had a fucked up day,” because I’m aware everyone is dealing with shit and I don't want to put my troubles onto someone else. So the easiest way for me is to do that is to write about it and then have people listen to it and be like, “All right, I experience that too.”
Pitchfork: You’ve said that your sisters were a big part of inspiring your creativity. How did they encourage you?
LS: When I was 10, my sisters used to help me write lyrics and come up with concepts. Even when I thought, “I don't even want to do music like that, can I just focus on school?” they were like, “Yeah, trust us, do school but also do this!” They gave me that confidence, taking me to all my shows, being on hand whenever I needed them. My sisters and my mum taught me how to be a woman: the way they carry themselves, the way they talk to people, the way they know how to put their foot down. They're not having any nonsense from no one. I can see traces of that in me.
Pitchfork: You released A Curious Tale on your own label, Age 101—do you want to sign other artists?
LS: Definitely. My beliefs and what I want the label to be about totally contradict where music is today, which might make things a little bit difficult, but that’s good. I've never been the one to like things easy anyway.
Pitchfork: How does the label contradict what's going on in music?
LS: Everything is just… boring as fuck. Like: “You have to do three singles, go on tour, and then you might get a month off and go straight into the next record.” It’s just a cycle. I want to do cool shit. For this album, I didn’t wanna release no singles, because it’s not an album where you can just listen to one track and know what I’m doing; you have to listen to it in its entirety, otherwise I would just make a mixtape or go on Spotify and make a playlist. The whole point of an album is to understand the artist and enjoy the music—it’s supposed to make you want to go to a concert to see them in the flesh and get the album on vinyl and be a part of everything. That's what I'm about. I'm an old soul, I like that shit.
Pitchfork: What does your music give rap fans that they’re not currently getting?
LS: I think they're not hearing the truth, the realness. Nobody likes being lied to, and I'm not about to add fire to that flame. I'm going to tell you things that are uncomfortable to hear, but it’s because I genuinely care. Especially for young girls. They need to know the power they have, and they're just not told a lot. It frustrates me because I look at my niece: She's young and she's got make-up, and it's like, “Who’s telling you this is what you need to be beautiful?” I don't feel like women have to be secondary to men, and there's not enough people telling young girls that, and that’s why shit happens.
Pitchfork: Your album starts on a strong statement: “Women can be kings.”
LS: Of course. People always hit me with this feminist shit, and I'm not a feminist. I believe in equality: guys have rights, women have rights. It should be the same with race, or class, or whatever. I just like balance. I’m the two fishes, I’m the Pisces.
Pitchfork: Tell me about the song “Tainted”, which tackles the bad side of ambition.
LS: It’s about you becoming a product of the industry and getting accustomed to the fast lifestyle—not caring about your artistry, or your integrity, or what you used to stand for. People hear it and think I'm talking from my perspective, but I'm talking from the eyes of someone whose soul has been tainted, who’s just ugly. It's meant to be a really shitty rap song, so some of the lyrics are just weak. “Got animals that ride with me, Noah's arc” is a weak line to me, but it's all intentional, because it’s coming from the perspective of someone with no substance. That is the person I never want to become.