Little Simz’s album of big beef

Lotus is a record of rage, but Simz knows to reframe a public and painful betrayal as a moment of recovery

Little Simz’s Colors performance of ‘Venom’ has been a regular fixture in my YouTube watch history for five years. It often autoplays on my TV when another video finishes, and I let the algorithm feed it to me again. It’s the kind of rap song that thrills by emphasising the technical. Like KRS-One or Twista, there’s joy in hearing how many words she can stuff into a short space. Every line is delivered in a rapid burst, but Simz is clear as day. She makes you pay attention to breath control. There are thousands of people like me in the video’s comments, feverishly talking about where she places her gasps for air. I still get chills when she picks up speed as the beat shrinks to just a hi-hat, all focus on the high-wire act of performing with precision.

‘Venom’ was a starmaking moment, where Little Simz’s ambition and slickness became impossible to avoid. She embodied the cutthroat sportsmanship of rap. But through the technique, her clarity and directness stood out the most. To hear a Little Simz song is to take in every word. This is what makes her strong with concept and narrative. You hear this clarity on hits like ‘Gorilla’, from 2022’s NO THANK YOU, where every line is intelligent and memorable on first listen, even when words spill out in front of you. Her jokes and double entendres are smart without getting in the way of flow. On the outro, she comes back for another four bars, just to hammer the point home. How can she possibly have more clever things to say? Yet she does.

These are the songs that show their working, largely written about being the best. But Simz is deadliest when you don’t notice the technique, where her directness is used to lift a heavy thought out of her head and make the listener feel it.

Lotus, Little Simz's sixth record, is full of that kind of directness. And when it begins, what she wants us to feel is rage. She has been betrayed by someone close to her, who she accuses of stealing, manipulation and exploitation. Though never mentioned by name, details bleeped out, it's clear that her former production partner Inflo is the one in the crosshairs.

Simz and Inflo have worked together since 2017, though they've known each other since childhood, having met at St Mary's Youth Club in Islington. His gritty and tasteful soul instrumentals gave her albums Grey Area and Sometimes I Might Be Introvert heft. She's spoken about their clear chemistry and deep trust in interviews, which extended beyond music. Their early sessions were mostly just talking about life and their dreams. He's been a listening ear as her star has grown. By the time SAULT took off in 2020, Simz and Inflo had established themselves as one of the great producer/rapper partnerships. Like Missy Elliott once rapped about Timbaland, they were so tight that you got their styles tangled.

Things fell apart last year. Simz is suing Inflo for £1.7 million in unpaid loans, in part lended to cover costs related to SAULT's live show at Drumsheds. To see the relationship crumble on record is rough, the anger palpable on intro, ‘Thief’ (“We went from a hundred down to nought, and yes it is all your fault”; “Selling lies, selling dreams, thief”; “Making me feel like I was a guest, but I paid for that jet”; and most brutally: “I’m lucky that I got out now / it’s a shame and I really feel sorry for your wife.”)