Labrinth: The Musical Genius Behind Euphoria
Guests: Labrinth
Full transcript · Read the full conversation in order, with its original context.
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The thing I think about most, especially when I'm on the go but also when I'm sat here in the Diary of a CEO studio, is the Wi-Fi and internet that we have to work with. In fact, anytime I’m filming away from the studio, one of the first things I do when I arrive is open up an app and do a speed test to see how strong the signal is.
The number of screenshots I’ve sent to my team about Wi-Fi signals at different locations is actually pretty crazy. It matters that much to me because it's such a competitive advantage to have fast Wi-Fi. On any given day, if I’m recording hours and hours of footage with a podcast guest, I often have to have my team send that across to our London team who then do the edit.
Fast Wi-Fi and internet is not a "nice to have," it is absolutely business-mission critical. So, when it came to finding the best provider who could supply internet and Wi-Fi to our new LA studio, which I’m sat in right now, we looked at every single option.
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Lab, if this podcast has taught me one thing, it's that we're all created by and defined and shaped and molded by our earliest context. When you think about your earliest context and how that shaped who you are today and the person you went on to be—I’m talking about the deep characteristics you have, the deep passions—what is your early context? What do I need to know to understand you?
Well, that's a deep one now. The first thing that comes to my mind is church. My family was super religious, not always in the best way. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with religion, it just was wrapped in a lot of things that I don’t always think are healthy. But there was a lot of beauty as well in terms of music and worship. For me, worship was work with energy.
Seeing somebody connect with an energy or taking them from their body with a sound or with connection in a church—seeing that happen every Sunday can do something to you, and you kind of learn from it. So that was always beautiful. Just watching my family, because everyone can sing or play an instrument or they have some kind of musical talent, was super inspiring to be around.
Having a massive family heavily shaped me. I always say to people, standing in the middle of my house when I was ten, I would have my sisters upstairs singing R&B records, my brother downstairs with his friends playing jazz music like Yellowjackets or Weather Report, and my other brother ciphering in a room with his friends rapping and banging on an MPC drum machine.
Being in the middle of that was like, "I want to do all of them." It was insanely inspiring just to be around all of these big personalities. Even today when I make music, I’m like, "Would my sister like this? Would my brother like this? Would my family feel this?"
Where did that come from? That musical household? Who inspired that—parents, grandparents?
It’s weird because on my mom’s side, I think it’s the church. My mom and dad were both in the church and they both went to the same church. My granddad was a reverend at the church, and my aunties and uncles used to sing and do praise and worship circuits around the country. On my dad’s side, he was a guitarist and a bass player.
His whole family were also on the musical side of the church. It would be my mom and her family singing, and my dad playing with the musicians. So it was just always around when I was a kid. Music has been like the other sibling that I didn't know was there but was related to us.
Between Christianity and music, that was the beginning for me because my house was very heavily bordered around church. We couldn't watch TV without it being turned off if somebody was kissing. Romance was seen as "of the devil." Then when I went to school, that's when the kaleidoscope went wild.
I really did feel that as a kid. Because it was so sheltered, going to Central London was like going to another country to me. It was home, church, and then everything else around that was like being in a whole other world. Growing up for me was just discovering this other dimension.
What was your relationship like with your mother and father?
My mother was, like I was saying, in the church which was beautiful but also toxic. My mother was shunned from the church because she had children out of wedlock. She was kind of disowned by a lot of our family. She moved from North London to Hackney, and from then on, I don’t think I saw my grandparents for years after she was put out.
One thing that happens in Jamaica, because a lot of them came over here to "the land of milk and honey," is that with race, anything white was seen as better. My mom was one of the darkest of her family, and she grew up being told, "You're the darker one of the family, so don't shoot for the stars, just stay on the ground."
Because she was around a lot of that energy, when she was on her own, she made a promise to herself to not do that to her kids. Growing up with my mom, she was super supportive. She used to teach us everything. She came out of this community having no understanding of taxes, how to keep a house, or business. She literally had to learn from scratch.
She would study psychology, transactional analysis, and willpower, and she would teach us and sit us all around the table and ask, "What is willpower?" I remember nine of us sitting around the table. At the time we were like, "Mom, come on, this is so boring," but she would pull us into it and we would end up having these big conversations. She nurtured our music and creativity.
For her generation in the 60s, it was often "children are to be seen and not heard." With my dad, he was very much abused when he was a kid by his stepfather. He was beaten a lot, and I think that affected him as a man and as a father. He left home when he was fifteen. He wasn't really there for me. I didn't see my dad much when I was a kid.
But I pity his beginning because I get why he became who he became. He was super musical, and I think that was the most inspiring thing I got from him. I always used to see him playing his guitar.
When did he leave your household? How old were you?
I don't even remember, that's how long ago it was. I was super young. He must have come back twice because I have two brothers and sisters younger than me. I grew up not giving a shit that I didn't have a dad. I didn't have a connection with him. A lot of my older brothers and sisters were very close to him, but I didn't feel like anyone left. I only noticed how important he was when he died.
You only noticed how important he was when he died?
Honestly, before then I just thought he was a sperm donor. It didn't matter to me. But when he died, I had kids then. He hadn't met my kids. I remember putting my daughter to sleep and she had a bad dream. I said, "I've got you, don't worry, I'm here." And I realized I'd never heard that. I was like, "Oh, that’s a dad."
That's how important that part of your life is. You inherit things from your parents—not just money or wealth, but memories and mental health support. My dad always said certain things that can be like petrol in your tank when you're struggling. I didn't grow up with that. That hit me when my dad was gone. I understood how instrumental a parent can be.
I often think I figured myself out in hindsight by comparison—comparing me to my peers at a young age. You notice how you're different from your peers, even your siblings. Under the age of 18, who were you figuring out you were in comparison to the outside world?
Even with my brothers and sisters, I remember coming home with indie records. I remember I was working with a girl and she played me Blondie and loads of 70s and 80s indie records. I was like, "This is fun." I always wanted to delve into things that were foreign to me. I grew up with grime and hip-hop, I got that. But what were these other things?
When I would bring them home, especially coming from a background of gospel and black music, it was weird. Nobody even knew how to compliment me on it other than to say, "You're doing your thing, I guess." I’ve seen that happen consistently in my life. I grew up around grime artists, but I never wanted to make grime.
I never felt like the kind of black guy that I was "supposed" to be in those environments. I was always weird. I never knew all the dances. I used to dance funky. I just knew I didn't know if I was supposed to be here.
If I had met 16-year-old you, what would I have seen?
Weird as hell. My wife now, who was my girlfriend then, says she remembers seeing me years ago wearing a durag, a Marilyn Manson-style long black cape jacket, and those metal knight finger rings with a crucifix on them. I had a Dunlop cap on backwards and Dunlop trainers. I was just a weird kid and I would always dress in the most funky ways. I didn't even notice I was doing it.
Most kids at 14 just want to fit in and be accepted by the crowd. You sound slightly different in that regard.
I couldn't fit in. Even if I wanted to wear what everyone else was wearing, I couldn't; I didn't have the money. So it was like, what was "cool" with my family was being creative. We found our way of being popular or loved amongst our peers by our character and personality. All of us—dancers, singers—we would dance together.
We did a show in school together as a family and put on a concert. We had the whole school come and pay to watch us perform. We were like little superstars in our neighborhood as a group. People used to write articles on us, the "Jackson 9." We were really loved for just our creativity. We somehow transcended the "physical cool" because we definitely didn't have that stuff.
Who was driving that individuality at home? Was it your mom?
I think it's my mom. She didn't get in the way of it. That’s one thing I inherited from her—she didn't stop us from being ourselves. If anything, she would laugh at it or be like, "Go do you." She was open. My older brother Jamie was a producer and a DJ, and he used to make his own sound systems because he was inspired by dub and jungle. I used to help him make his speakers for his DJ sets. All of this stuff was going on side-by-side while I was a kid.
When did you start focusing on music? What age?
I don't know. In school, I had a band called Dynamics. One of the guys in it was Flow, a sick producer who worked on Little Simz's albums. We were making our own music and thinking we were going to be the biggest band in the world. We used to argue all the time like we were the Rolling Stones; we thought we were rock stars. In school, we would give out flyers we made ourselves to come to our concert.
What age was this?
This was like 14. By the time I left secondary school at 16, everyone knew I was going to be a musician. In our classroom, they had us write down who we thought was going to be the most successful or rich first, and they all said "Lab." I didn't even believe it myself, but I was super mega-focused. I used to get in mad trouble just so I could go to the music room. My whole existence has been: I want to write records.
What age did that mastery process start—the first time you picked up an instrument?
My brother Josh is an amazing drummer, McNASTY. He taught me how to play the bass and the drums. I would just copy my older brother. Then I’d go to Jamie’s room and he’d teach me how to use the MPC. I’d go to his studio and him and his boys would be smoking, drinking, and on a madness. He took me under his wing for a bit and I would go around with him in his world, which was much more hip-hop and urban. We were listening to Pete Rock and Wu-Tang. Then my other brother was more into instruments and I’d be around his musician friends.
We spoke to someone on your team and they said we could put any instrument in front of you and you'd play it.
Everything's an instrument to me. This table, the sound of your voice—it's a tone. I can just hear music all the time. It doesn't stop. I got diagnosed with ADHD because I thought I may have had it. When I read about what it's like, I was like, "Oh shit, it makes sense why I’m so focused on this." That’s literally all I do. I raise my children and I make music. That's been my life.
I was sat here recently with an expert on the topic of ADHD. One of the things he said was that there’s been a rise in ADHD—30 years ago it was 1 in 20 kids, now it’s 1 in 9. His take was that ADHD is an early response to stress in the household. The child learns how to basically turn off their attention as a way to protect themselves. They've looked at studies of 65,000 parents, and the parents with the most stress end up having kids with ADHD.
Makes sense. My childhood sounds mad stressful. It’s not far off. Even talking about it sometimes sounds silly because everyone thinks they have ADHD now. I hate trying to victimize myself with it, and that’s why I checked. I think it’s disrespectful for a person with something that affects their ability to live a "normal" life to just claim it without knowing.
Was it prohibiting your life?
100%. Still does today. I can't finish shit. I forget—literally like blackouts. Even in conversation, sometimes when people say something to me, I take in the information and it just kind of dies away. I’m like, "Shit, I can't even hold a conversation." Keeping up relationships, remembering to get back to people... in business, your business is not going to change if you don't respond. I would work with artists and they’d say, "Lab, you're so sick, please can you write my album?" I’d start the record and then they wouldn't hear from me because I just clock out. I just forget I’m doing it and get dragged into something else.
How important has it been for your creativity to have all these different instruments and influences? I remember one person I spoke to described creativity as all these different clouds in your mind, and sometimes the clouds hit each other and that’s a new idea. To be creative, you have to have as many clouds as possible.
I feel that. It’s about being able to create variety in your ability to transmit an idea. I look at creativity as articulating your soul. That’s the true form for me. You can be creative but not really tell the truth. You might just be making something you think people will like. You can still be creative while doing that, but then there's the other side which I believe is art—where you're transmitting the frequency of your soul to a person.
I feel like every soul has a song. Every soul has a direction or a place it wants to go. I always ask artists, "What do you hear in you?" Not what you hear outside of you—like, "Burna Boy's doing this, and that guy's doing this." No, what’s in you? For me, I had to do that to find what I wanted to say. It’s learning how to be unafraid to be totally naked, because baring your soul is naked.
Was there a time you were taught to be afraid?
My whole life. Everything. I'm still afraid now, but I can see it. That makes a difference in terms of whether I choose to be afraid. Before, I had no choice. I wasn't enjoying my career because I wasn't saying what I wanted to say. I felt like my world was being governed by accommodating my periphery. My manager would say, "If you do this, this is going to gain a reaction." Your inner child wants someone to say he's worthy. In the music industry, it’s like a bunch of kids trying to get a pat on the back. Everybody wants the "good boy."
But when you finally realize, "I don't give a shit about your good boy," you want a "good boy" from yourself. You want to be like, "You said it. You actually said what was internally going on." Getting to that point where you're comfortable with what you receive after you've said what you said is true freedom.
That’s the journey, right? You start out, you’re trying to learn the ropes, and you follow the advice of people who supposedly know better. Sometimes the advice pays off.
And that’s the worst part—when it pays off. Because you think it works! You’re like, "I did everything I didn't want to do, but it worked, so maybe I should do more of this."
What part of your career are you referring to?
With Simon Cowell. When I signed to Simon Cowell, my manager at the time said, "It’s a bigger check, you’re in a label that is going to prioritize you because you’re not like anything else on their label." I was like, "Yeah, great idea," but I didn't think about it for myself. I allowed someone else to tell me what my next direction was because I didn't have the strength to think about what I wanted.
Same way I owned a restaurant. My manager was like, "You should own a restaurant!" and I was like, "Yeah, let’s own a restaurant!" I don't know shit about a restaurant. I’ve never cared about a restaurant. It felt like you’re supposed to look like a mogul and gather all these things to keep up appearances.
It sounds like because you didn't know what you wanted, someone else told you, but also you didn't have the conviction to stand up for what you wanted.
I didn't ask myself what I wanted. I was always accommodating what everyone else wanted. I think one thing I love about the ADHD is I don't think about money the same way most people do. A lot of my peers are building a business because they can. They have this whole internal plan. My plan is: if I can take a sound out of heaven and put it on a computer, that is mad to me. That literally lights up my whole soul. Sometimes I cry because it hits me that hard. I can live for that.
But then around that, this business comes and says, "We can turn this into money, but you have to do this with it. You’ve got to funnel it. Be a star." What does a star look like? "Be in a car with tinted windows, have an entourage." But I don't really know how to do that. I’m kind of really a geek. None of this shit means anything to me. I felt like I was being... that was the time I didn't believe I belonged.
I remember in Syco they went, "Who are you going out with?" and I said, "What do you mean?" They said, "Maybe Cher Lloyd." I was like, "What?" They said, "We’re going to send you to this party, JLS are there, just be ready because we're trying to put you around this facade." I thought studying music theory and modes and scales was what made you worthy of being in this industry. But it became about: entertainment isn't craft, entertainment is entertainment. People will be entertained by anything. So it was: play the game.
When did you feel the symptoms of that? I’ve sat here with people who spent a decade wearing the mask and then at some point, they just have panic attacks.
It’s a hard one. We all meet each other and we’re all pretending that we've got it together. I could have seen Fern Cotton and she’s dying inside, but she has to be "Fern, I've got it together." I’m like, "She's got it so well together, man, and I'm a fake." Everyone is doing that. It turns you into this person that’s getting kicks out of lying better than the other.
You go to an award ceremony and it’s like, "We sold 5 million records this week, how many did you sell?" People believe in my lie and now I believe in it. It starts to create this thing in you where if it becomes successful, you’re like, "I need to be this guy now." I would have never known that stuff was going on with Fern because she had it well together. I was having panic attacks.
What were the symptoms? When did you realize something had to change?
I was smashing guitars on stage. I was a church boy, so that was big for me. One show, I was performing and I was like, "I hate this." But I wasn't saying it in my mind, I could feel it. Why am I in front of this crowd? This is not even the audience I wanted to be in front of. My band was eating my rider before I got into my room because I was accommodating everyone to the point where it was "Like me, please." I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you're comfortable in my space even if it means giving you all my space.
Brands would give you stuff and my team would take it and give it to their families. Nothing was given to my family. My missus had actually noticed this.
Where does that people-pleasing come from?
It must be my dad. I think I silenced my dad's absence in me. I had this thing in my head where it was, "I don't need this guy," but him not being present was like, "What do I need to be for you to be here?" The music industry helped create some of that as well. Before the music industry, I was that guy—I’d throw my durag on, I looked wonky as hell. I was confident enough to walk around London looking like this hodgepodge guy. But the music industry was like, "You need to be this."
So you learned at a young age that there was a way to behave to be loved.
Yes, there was a right and wrong. There was a way to be to be loved. "God loves you if you behave like this." I’m really intrigued by how we become people-pleasers because, as Gabor Maté says, we seek validation from a parent and when we struggle to get it, it becomes our adult tendency to fit into others' expectations. To the point where you're on stage performing music that sounds like "What is this? Who made this?" to a crowd you don't even want to be there for.
If we act inauthentically for long enough, we build a life around that inauthenticity. We build a friendship group, a fan base. Then the pain of keeping up with that community that doesn't resonate with who you truly are kicks in. Everyone thinks that by "doing you," you're still going to achieve that same success. That's the scary thing. You find yourself and you’re like, "I'm going to make the album I owe to myself," and people don't give a shit. It’s entertainment.
You did it for you, so just do it for you. You have to accept the consequences of being you, and the consequences of the way you do business as well. I don't want to tour all around the world saying hello to every person without really connecting. "Oh, I'm famous, kiss my ass, and I'm going to move to the next country." That doesn't excite me. It drains my creative energy. But if you don't tour, and you're getting a million for every show, it's hard to say no to that.
But then if I go to the true me, my center says "No, I'm not going to do that." Then don't cry about it after. Learning to really accept your choices and live and die by them can help you find fulfillment. And that to me is money.
Was that day on stage the turning point for you?
Yeah, I threw a guitar in the air and almost hit a camerawoman. I was pissed. I was backstage, something happened, my manager was being weird, our relationship was breaking down. I had a dependency, it was intense. I had no confidence. I was at a place where I couldn't actually talk to people because I had social anxiety. He was super confident and outgoing and was someone to lean on.
I kind of saw him as a father figure. We had a really close relationship and then it just started to break down when money started coming in. I felt that happening but I didn't know what was going on internally. I went on stage, threw this guitar in the air, and there was this one guy in the crowd looking at me like I was a dickhead. I believed him! I was like, "You're right!" and I just threw the guitar. My tour manager came back and said, "You know you almost killed someone today?"
Wait, you threw the guitar because some guy gave you a funny look?
Him, the thing that was going on backstage... I just didn't want to be there. I threw it because I was just like, "Fuck this place." It nearly skimmed her. When he said that, I was like, "Whoa, something’s going on, I need to deal with it." I had a mad anger problem. That’s ADHD as well. I haven't seen that guy for a very long time, but it was crazy.
Gabor Maté talks about healthy anger being a cure that allows us to heal. When we have chaotic upbringings, it creates internal anger and resentment, but at the same time, it creates people-pleasing and suppression. The anger becomes suppressed and it looks like people-pleasing on the surface, but then it'll go "boom" like a volcano over the top.
Yeah, those layers. You can be passive-aggressive. It sounds like a contradiction to be a people-pleaser but have the volcano erupt, but it makes sense because you're suppressing so much stuff. In music, I also felt suppressed.
I wanted them to hear all the layers of me, and I think "Euphoria" was the first time I felt people actually heard what was going on on my hard drive for real. With it connecting, I was like, "Oh, they get it!" But it took so long for me to be able to try and share it. It took for somebody else to go, "Give me your hard drive, I'm going to put this all in my show." It was: I'm going to do it for you.
You mentioned panic attacks, losing hair?
I had clumps of hair falling out. It was mad. My wife was a big part of supporting that. She could see it all happening. Funny enough, I couldn't fight for her at the time either. She could see it all happening and she was like, "This is not the way business should be done." A lot of the people that were around me made her the monster. She was the one with the boundaries.
The missus becomes the manager—and she wasn't even trying to be, she hates the music industry—but she wanted to protect my sanity. Everyone else around me was like, "We’ve got a gig for a hundred and something grand, what do you mean why are you not going to do the show?" There was a lot of manipulation and she was seeing it. She became the martyr. There was a witch hunt directed at her and I wasn't strong enough to support her. I was still too accommodating. "No, no, it's because of this..." I was justifying.
Have you ever spoken to her about that?
Yeah, that’s what built strength in our relationship. I apologized to her. I think a lot of people don't notice how strong and powerful women are beside people that are in the public eye. They don't get the credit. She just was mad supportive and she introduced me to a shrink and got me a lot of support—just to talk to someone and a life coach. She put me onto a lot of things that I wouldn't have had if she wasn't around.
Women in that feminine energy... it’s so lost upon men these days. This over-masculinity is clearly not working for men when you look at the stats around mental health and suicide. Women have an ability to open us up to the other side which is unbelievably healing.
She’s just super smart and I think she was more aware. She had a start that was pretty intense and so it woke her up to a lot of things that I wasn't aware of. She kind of schooled me on a lot of things. If she wasn't around, I wouldn't be around, honestly. I’d be on YouTube with no teeth shouting at the camera. You know how people go way left? If she wasn't around, I wouldn't be around.
When you look back on the art you created in that phase of your life—the hits like "Pass Out," "Frisky"—how do you feel about that music now?
I laugh now. It’s fun. Sometimes I see the brilliance—"Pass Out" still hits me. I can see the energy. It was a moment where I pulled up my sleeves and said, "I'm not doing this shit anymore, I'm not going to fake it, I'm going to make something I want to hear." And it paid off. But I have moments like that and then I get scared again. I get too shook. It's just being conscious of yourself or aware of your behavior to help you create peace in your life.
Why did you eventually go to LA at 24? Was it to get away from the UK?
Yeah, I wanted to go to LA to get away from the UK. I think that was going on internally, like I needed to do something different. This was after I released my first album. It always take ages to do a second, the "difficult second album." You had a moment and then it’s like, "Oh, I’ve got to do that again." That was on accident! Most of it is on accident. You can never recreate exactly the same thing.
Even in this industry now, we’re in a whole new world. Most records are sold online. TikTok—that’s how you sell records. So to come into that and go, "How do I find myself amongst this without losing my authenticity?" It goes back to: don't be that guy. Don't be that guy and just keep up appearances. Find your way of saying it in a way that means something to you.
I sat with Lewis Capaldi and he said to me, "I'm shitting it." His second album was coming out and he told me about the procrastination, the doubt. I can understand how, in any business, you smash it and then it's like, "Do it again."
When people make that move to America, they become a small fish in a big pond. People aren't stopping you in the street.
Oh, that was sick! I remember going to the Grammys and I was standing next to John Legend and massive artists. I came to stand in and my publicist put me in there and the cameramen were like, "John! John, stand there! Chrissy!" Then I came in and it was just like... they dropped the cameras. And the guy was like... [gestures]. But you know when you’re talking about losing or not getting the reaction you wanted? It was the best reaction for me. I loved it! It was like, they don't even give a shit. I can go be that guy again. I can go be the guy where there was no expectation.
Now I can make me. Racially, I felt pulled by two races in this country sonically. Then when I was over there, there was none of that "Lab, you need to be hood, Lab, we need more pop music, be more regional." There was a pull between me and I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere because I like both. There's always somebody that doesn't like it. So I kind of became comfortable with that feeling of, "Yes, someone’s not going to like this."
That’s a process of realization, right? Not reinvention?
Realization. Because reinvention is trying to get somewhere. Realization is actually going, "This is who I am." Peel away the onion. What's underneath? In that, for me, that’s the most important thing in my career, the most important thing in my existence: to go, what's the rawest form of Lab? What’s the rawest form of me even without this body? What’s the soul? What's my center saying?
What is the center? Who is Lab?
I call it "calling your tears." Sometimes when I sing [vocalizes melodies], I call this calling your tears. It’s like, I want to hear the fucking center of you as well. I give you the center of me and I want to hear the center of you. Can I speak to you beyond your "I have this thing and I’ve got money" thing? Who’s the guy? If I can sing and do this to you and you see you, and we both see beyond our flesh, beyond the things that bind us on earth... that shit for me is what I want to see. Not what you were taught when you were five. Not the mask. What does your soul want? What is your soul song?
Frequency is a language. Listening to a melody, you can hear a feeling. It speaks to me. Can I truthfully speak to you beyond the bullshit? Frequency is one of our most powerful languages. Everything on earth is vibrating. That’s how we can identify a lot of things. You can feel energy. Getting to the core of that is the most exciting thing for me. Every time I go in the studio, I want to be there, but I'm fighting to get away from needing to please. That clouds my mission all the time.
Still today?
100%. Without a doubt. But it’s not as loud as it used to be.
You’ve got music coming out soon. What’s the process been like making this new body of work?
It was fun, it was fast. I worked with my band LSD—me and Sia and Diplo have a band. In working with Sia, I kind of learned how to let go a bit. After the long number two album, I just kind of was like, "Yeah, let’s just do something. Just do it, let go, don't think about it." I did end up thinking about it a little later on because I've had the album for a while, but I just was like, I enjoy these melodies, I enjoy what I'm doing. Alongside "Euphoria," a lot of these things were teaching me to come out of that pleasing and just go: what are you hearing? Write what you hear from the sky and that's it.
How much is this record a reflection of how you’re feeling and where you are in your mind and your psychology?
I believe that this record is one of the steps towards me being naked. I don't think I'm as naked as I want to be yet, but I believe that it's getting me there. Even with this album, it was dedicated to my missus. A lot of the songs are dedicated to her because she stood up for me and supported me through my experiences. I turned our relationship in the music industry into two lovers, Bonnie and Clyde riding through the cosmos. Natural born killers in space. That was the whole album.
It's all love songs, but all the love songs are me taking photos of moments with my wife and things we've been through together. I didn't write in a way where it was, "A couple of weeks ago on Saturday when this happened." It’s more loosely based on those moments. Every song is me amplifying little moments that me and my wife have had.
Where, physically, does your inspiration show up?
Everything is a song, bro. Everything. This is a song: "I wait for you." This Huel bottle sitting here... if you imagine that everything on earth is alive, this bottle was made just to sit here to wait to be poured into my cup. So that's a song: "I wait for you. I wait at your beck and call whenever you need me." I’m turning this bottle into a person. "Don't you know how long I've needed to be wanted? Or don't you know I have my own things I want for myself?" Every little thing can be dramatized into a song.
"I'll nutritionally complete you."
[Laughs] But it is that! "I'll complete you. I'll be your servant." But when is my moment? You can just find things in it. Just one thing sitting there and start to peel the onion. What would it feel like if I just had to sit there like I was created and just had to sit there to replenish somebody's health?
Have you always thought like that? That’s quite an abstract way to think—the metaphor of what that bottle is doing there. Most people would say that’s a drink.
Yeah, that’s everything, bro.
And have you cultivated yourself to think in such a way over time, or is that just something you've always had?
That’s it. That's it for me. With everything. Like you're saying with growing up—you’re going: how do people see the world? You try to see the world through other people's eyes, especially when you grow up with traumas or an intense home. You learn to observe a lot. In observation, you go into layers and layers of storytelling. Even sounds for me have colors, sounds for me have pictures. I always have an idea. Usually what scares the idea away is people-pleasing, honestly. I know what my idea is, but it's learning how in a business, especially that we go from writing in our bedrooms to becoming CEOs of companies without knowing it... you have to learn how to run your business and get your business to articulate what you want to say without being afraid of judgment.
I'm Lab that just got signed to Syco. Day one of Syco, I get to meet you here now and I ask you for advice. I’m you on that day that you sign with Syco. What advice do you give me?
Just live your life. Whatever it's supposed to be. I won't take back anything that's happened, honestly, because I believe that everything happens to build you. I wouldn't have learned the things I’ve learned in order to become who I am today. All my challenges are turning me into who I’m supposed to be.
Do you think if you had given me advice on that day that I would have listened?
No. I wouldn't have listened. I would have been like, "Yeah, man, people love my music, let’s go!" because you just don't know. You don't know what you're going to experience. So I would say go and experience what you need to experience because you're going to head to your North in whatever way you can. Some people don't ever find their North because they don't learn to go, "Okay, let me take a look at myself." My dad did that where he just wasn't able to be vulnerable enough to go, "Okay, maybe this," or "Actually, I'm not happy here." If you can do that in your life, I don't think anything's wrong with it. You'll be able to find your North by being able to observe yourself.
What are your goals now?
To make the Cosmic Opera. [Sings] "Bada-da-da..." It's mad.
No, tell me. That's your goal, I want to hear it.
Yeah, I do, I want to make an opera. I want to write an opera. I can hear the sounds, I can hear how it looks, feels. I want to do things with choirs that nobody's done. I can hear all these things that I’m like, "Nobody's done this, I'm going to go do it."
Do you know we did this podcast live with a live gospel choir? We toured it up and down the country.
Oh, really?
Yeah, The London Community Gospel Choir.
Oh, that’s my sister’s choir! Cherelle, Shaz. She used to work with them, she was part of making... yeah.
Yeah, it was crazy. We had this 30-40 person choir and the band, and it’s this mixture between the visual—the video would come in and it would crackle from people on this podcast—and then you’d have me with spoken word, and then the choir would come in and say the message in music. I might be talking about the struggle I had with self-doubt and then the other young ambitious kid that knew he wanted to be a millionaire because he was insecure. On one hand you’ve got "Wait 'Til I Get My Money" and then you’ve got Gnarls Barkley, "I Think You're Crazy." It was that battle of music and stuff.
Yeah, bro, you're doing it, man! That’s exactly it. There's a song to all of it, isn't there?
Do you get afraid now?
Do I ever feel... yeah. Do you feel used to your fears now?
So, like stepping out on stage at the London Palladium. We opened up at the London Palladium. Stepping out on stage there, never having done this before in front of people, and knowing that they’d bought tickets without having any idea what they’d bought tickets to—they were expecting a live podcast and they got this on stage—there was a moment of that where you’ve just got to be at peace with the uncertainty. All the great things come from being at peace with the uncertainty.
Do you feel like maybe your peace with the uncertainty comes from your parents?
Yes. My parents were so absent from my life. My mom and dad were never in when I got home, she was never in when I woke up, so I got to play. I got to experiment so much. When you start building evidence in yourself like, "Oh, I tried this thing and it kind of works," you never unlearn that lesson. You never once you’ve seen behind that curtain that you can just try stuff.
And are you okay with... like, if it bombed, would you be okay?
The honest answer: if it bombed-bombed, no. [Laughs] Because it's crazy. I remember the feedback we got was like nothing I’ve ever got in my career. But you get that one message: "That was fucking weird." And I’m thinking about it the next night before I go out. I’m thinking that one person said it was fucking weird. Even though 2,000 people are saying, "This is brilliant, I loved it," you’re just like... that one guy. A search for validation can be a real motivator in your life. It can force you to go out there and do great stuff, but at the same time, it could also make you really susceptible to criticism. It drives you, but then it also scares you.
But if you... that’s what I love about hip-hop. I was watching *Hip-Hop Evolution* and loads of the guys on there, they kind of were just like: "We’re already the scumbags of the earth to this country, there’s nothing to lose." I love that! They just go and do anything because it was just like, "I'm going for it, I'm taking it all." That’s where hip-hop turned into a massive industry now, and it wasn't; it started from a guy just being on turntables. Sometimes I get inspired by seeing that.
When your next project comes out, say every song on the album gets a trillion views. It's the first album ever to get a trillion views on every record. Next time you see me, are you going to be like, "Yeah, what's going on?"
[Laughs] No, "Lab, why are you speaking like that, bro?" "No, what do you mean? How am I speaking?" Just with glasses, just looking down. Entourage, tinted car and shit. "Lab doesn't want to talk right now." "Why are you speaking about yourself in the third person?"
But are you scared of that?
Of becoming a dickhead? No, but like... if your next album gets a trillion views on every record, here comes expectation again. Suddenly you’ve got something to lose again.
No, burn it down every time. Burn it down. Just burn down the house. It’s so beautiful to be free of expectation—of your own and of your own expectation as well. You’re like Forrest Gump, man, you could do anything with that when you’re free from desire. My son's favorite song right now: "Free from desire, mind and senses purified!" But anyway, when you are free from desire in terms of the need for reception or validation, if you actually put that down, you’re just going to go do anything, bro. You’ll just go ham.
Some people are born having that—it's just in them where they're just... well, maybe they’re scared, but they don't show it and they’re just able to just move on really fast and they have insane resilience. I’m not a person to go back to the past, but how free and freeing would it be if you could just go, "Cool, that didn't work, let’s go." Not even that "didn't work," just "I'm going to do what I'm here to do," which is make music.
Do you see any of your peers or anyone in the industry... I was thinking of Kanye West, a controversial figure, but he seems to not give a fuck about expectation.
He really doesn't. I've worked with him. It was inspiring. Do you know even with Kanye, he's mad controversial, but being in his creative environment was one of the most inspiring I've had. I wasn't a Kanye fan—I wasn't like, "Oh, I've listened to all your albums, I know every song." I literally was put with Kanye through a manager and they were like, "Lab's the fucking next hottest artist, do you want to work with him?" and I got a yes and then I went into the camp.
Working with all these amazing musicians and producers, it feels like what I love, which is: hear it, do it. It’s got nothing on the periphery that affects the vision of what he's headed for, especially in that environment. Sometimes maybe, I don't know, personally when he's at home on his own it's affected, but the vibe in there just felt like true creativity.
I had Dame Dash here like a week ago and Dame said J-Z is all about the money, Kanye is all about the art. That seems to be what’s reflected from what you see from the outside.
That makes sense. Yeah.
Going back to your mission. You said about the cosmic orchestra. Is there a bigger mission you're on?
I think I've simplified my desires and it’s: I just want to be a tap. I want to be a tap. It sounds very wispy. But to be a tap for the universe—and what I mean by the universe is that I personally believe that we are all connected to a source. If we’re all connected to that source, everyone's a kaleidoscope, and when this source shines through our kaleidoscopes, you see these unique beautiful things.
But we have to make our kaleidoscope as pure as possible, meaning to get out of our own ways to be the kaleidoscope that we're supposed to be. I’m seeing some of your kaleidoscope and you made a decision to change your world or to change your facade that you had at the time to become who you need to be and you cleaned the window.
For me, if I can clean my window and shine light as purely as possible and do some shit that I didn't even know I could do, for me that’s a job well done. Honestly. In all truth. But the only thing that gets in the way is fear, self-doubt, and all the stuff that the industry, needing to make money, needing to be validated, gets in the way of. "Oh shit, I'm supposed to be cleaning the window." I keep going back to like, "Oh, okay, sorry, I forgot! Can I clean my window?" So that's what I want to do: clean windows.
It’s a really interesting analogy about being your most authentic self and staying true.
That’s it for me. But it’s easier said than done. We're all saying it online, "Oh, I want to speak my truth." That stuff doesn't mean anything to me. It's just to purely... you know when you're lying to yourself. The only person that knows you're lying to you is you. Sometimes you don't know when you're lying to yourself if you're not looking properly. But when you look, when you truly look, you’re like, "Okay, I'm lying." And so for me, cleaning the window is knowing when I'm lying and then being like, "Okay, cool, let’s go. Are we going back to truth? Yes, let’s do it."
Much of the reason why I've always resonated with your music and I view it as art is because it feels like it comes from a very authentic place. I haven't heard these sounds before. Even when I listen to "Pass Out" again, there’s so many layers to this that are like some garagey, grime stuff and then you’ve got the little Afro... it’s all in there. This is someone whose identity is clear.
That’s how I... you know when you asked me what happens when I listen back? I'm like, "Oh, is that how I look?" Because self-doubt is so heavy sometimes that you don't even know how you look. Somebody could be like, "You're so beautiful," and you're like, "I'm seeing warts, I'm seeing weird shit." Your idea of yourself is so distorted. So when I listen back to old stuff, sometimes I'm like, "Well done, kid. Man, it feels like you've got your own identity." I almost end up saying to that 24-year-old, "Bro, I'm proud of you. That's so fun, I feel you." And I didn't at the time. At the time I was like, "I don't know what I'm doing." So it's nice to kind of observe from a distance and be like a grandfather going, "Well done, mate."
Are you happy now?
Am I happy now? Yes. I definitely am happy. As a father, that changes your life massively. I think I'm super happy. I like to think about that when someone asks me a question, because it's easy to just go, "Yeah, how are you? I'm great, man!" You should ask me "Am I content?" and I am. I'm content. I think with fulfillment I'm getting there. No, I'm cleaning the window all the time. Realizing is returning back to fulfillment.
If that fulfillment was a recipe, is there anything missing off that that you believe now would make that recipe perfect? For me, it’s been balance. Workaholic—that’s kind of like an addiction that I have because of early stuff. So trying to make sure I’m investing in my romantic relationships, my friendships.
Same with my kids and my family. That balance. But fulfillment for me is desiring nothing, contributing everything. That’s how I feel. And maybe the only one desire is to remain present enough to be able to receive from what I'm contributing to. Or else you’re not going to be there to hear it, you’re going to be in the future. "I won't even enjoy it, my kid will be smiling at me and I'm looking over their heads onto the next... how do I get a trillion views?"
Have you got better at that? Being present to experience the joy of life?
Bro, it's the best. When you're present with your kids, it's the best. You learn so much stuff. My kid said she loves the moon and she asked me, "Does moonstones fall from the moon?" She said the moon gives her moonstones all the time and she’s like, "Shall we give them back?" I was like, "No, no, I think it was given to you as a present." Hearing stuff like that for me is like magic. It’s hearing a magical mind still appreciating the world in this magical way. Same with my son as well. He smells flowers and he really wants to really feel it and connect with it and enjoy it, and then he will go around giving everyone a flower and saying, "Smell it for yourself." Seeing that for me is like he made something that I ignore because I'm just so used to it super magical.
Beautiful. I was thinking about my dog there as well, how he simplified my life. I’d come home from the busy day, all these problems, and the dog is there just fucking around with his Lucozade bottle, having the time of his life. He’s like, "Fucking chase me, Dad!" He brings it close and then takes it... and I’m like, "You don’t understand how simple..." I’ve overcomplicated the world. He understands how simple and wonderful it is. But I’ve lost sight of that with my wisdom or with my experience.
We have a closing tradition on this podcast where the last guest asks a question for the next guest. They don't know who they're asking it for, they just write it in this diary. This guest is handwriting-challenged, so give me a second. My teacher used to call it chicken scratches. Okay. "What are you not saying yes to in your life that demands to be said?"
What am I not saying yes to that demands to be said? Nothing. Saying yes to all the stuff I want to say yes to.
Is there anything inside you that's asking you to step into it and accept it that you're not saying yes to?
Okay. I think accepting "what is." Just accepting what is, not getting dragged into what it *could* be. When you accept what is, you're like, "This is sick." You fall in love with it because you're appreciating it for what it is. So I think it's that, constantly remembering that. But that's a "yes" for the rest of your life.
Lab, thank you so much for this conversation. You are a musical genius. I can't really think of artists that have come out of the UK, come out of fucking Hackney, that have the creative diversity that you have. Honestly, the only other person I think of is Kanye. I believe with that sort of creative palette and where you see inspiration in a Huel bottle—nutritionally complete #ad—and the table, it’s really genius. It's a real special genius that I think, if the windows can remain clean, is going to serve the world in a remarkable way. I see and believe it all, and I can't wait to see this next project and all the projects that you bring to the world in the future.
Thank you, bro. Once I've got the opera somewhere, you’ve got to come and listen.
Please let me come. I will help you clean the windows, I don't care.
Oh man, I’m down! I would love for you to hear it. I'm definitely excited about this.
I appreciate you. It’s an honor to meet you. Thanks so much. Respect.
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