ALBUM REVIEW: Little Simz – Lotus

AWAL

Released: 06.06.25

Image by Thibaut Grevet

On Lotus, Little Simz doesn’t just open up, she offers a hard won blueprint for survival. After a near-breakdown and consequent crisis of confidence, the Islington-born rapper returns with her sixth studio album, a radically sincere emotional excavation that’s as stylistically fearless as it is soul-baring – an astoundingly personal reckoning with despair, self-doubt and the glimmering possibility of renewal. Following both the grandeur of Sometimes I Might Be Introvert and meditative defiance of NO THANK YOU, Lotus strips things down – not in sound, but in intention. Here, clarity is the definitive throughline, connecting the dots between divergent tonalities. Whether she’s snarling on Flood or tenderly unravelling on Blue, Simz stays piercingly direct, unspooling vignettes in an arresting contralto that

always cuts through without overwhelming – the result is raw, theatrical and immediate.

Much of Lotus plays like journal pages set to rhythm. Lonely captures her contemplating burnout and diffidence. “Maybe I’ll do more acting and less rapping,” she muses, sounding adrift. Elsewhere, on Peace, she lets the silence around her reflections breathe, the minimal production acting as a soothing salve. Free, originally conceived as a poem, is disarmingly evocative. Simz has never sounded more vulnerable, or freer, for that matter.

But Lotus isn’t all introspection. Young giddily taps into Simz’s zanier sensibilities, while Blood stages a stirring two-hander with guest Wretch 32. These moments of levity and experimentation speak to her evolving sense of self, less burdened, more candid. The sonic palette is just as expansive. With producer Miles Clinton James, she weaves vivid soundscapes that flit from punk-edged funk on ‘Thief’ to breezy samba on Only. The instrumentation is always alive (lush horns, ghostly strings, loose jazz grooves) and in constant service of Simz’s voice, which remains her sharpest instrument.

With Lotus, Simz lets go of genre, ego, and even expectation, offering no bravado, only truth. What emerges is a portrait of an artist relearning how to believe in herself, echoing the central metaphor of beauty blooming from the murk. The journey is messy, exquisite, and deeply human. Turn up, she reminds herself, and us, and the music will follow.