Intricate, intimate and engrossing, Lex Amor’s long-desired return has been worth the wait. Four years since her atmospheric, sprawling project “Government Tropicana”—that traversed her to one of UK underground hip hop’s most revered savants—and following collaborations with heavy-hitters like Knucks and Kojey Radical, she finally has returned with a new oeuvre.
“FORWARD EVER” is a project about perspective. It’s Lex—a philosophical, observant, patient character—navigating her own truths, and documenting the ideas that she’s obtained across the last four years. Sonically, it’s electric, eclectic, expressive, flicking through an amalgamation of approaches, from Afro-stylings to electronica flashes, soulful cadences to fanged rap. It’s a project that has been developed and nurtured, never rushed, and concocted during a period of time in which Lex has grown, musically and personally. The result is one of the UK’s best rap opus’ of the year; one that feels destined to be undervalued by the masses but cherished but the lucky few—the ones who truly understand.
Lex Amor is a rapper worth hearing and a writer worth reading. To celebrate her return and to place emphasis on the wonderful new project, Wonderland asked Lex to pen a letter to her younger self. Below is what prevailed.
Listen to “FORWARD EVER”…
Read Lex’s musings…
“Hello young Lex,
Or Alexis – they actually don’t call you Lex yet – Rachel (is that her name?) might have started calling you Flexy Lexy by now, that’s actually where the ‘Lex’ bit came from. Big up her, I wonder what she’s doing now. She went to Our Ladys too – we just drifted, didn’t even say hello in the corridors – in some ways it’s beautiful – how we allowed each other to move on.
I am here in 2024, and still on your shoulders – working my way through some of the things you picked up, things you refused to believe could hurt you, as they did – hurt you. I respect you for that, for how much you watched and refused to see.
It’s funny, because I think about you a lot, and I do often wonder whether you were fierce in your faith or just deeply insane looooool – either way; I romanticise you, and I take away your fears and doubts when I think about you – now I look you in the eyes, I can see clearly what you were saying to me when you told me you believed the world could bend – you were telling me you believed I could bend it.
I hear you. It’s funny, they’re telling me to write to you and I think the assumption is that I give you some sort of advice or impart some new-found wisdom – truth is you are still very much my anchor – with that being said, I have picked up a few things I want to share with you:
⁃ The darkest of nights have no teeth, you will struggle to remember the worst of them in detail.
⁃ Every joy you ever felt was real – all the fear was not.
⁃ You are what you say you are – you will forget – you will feel it make others uncomfortable, you have to learn to endure that discomfort.
⁃ You have a particular aversion to things that don’t feel natural, things that feel hard – so then lean towards ease. Understand and accept that this path requires boldness – the road is narrow, but you are not a small babe – you will widen it as you walk it.
⁃ Trust your full stops, honour your commas – heed your questions and question your answers.
⁃ Let your views evolve freely, your core will not move.
⁃ Your path will require courage, solitude and time – learn not to panic – your dreams actually don’t have to weigh anything – you can let your faith carry all the questions.
⁃ Go where it feels warm and safe – there are a few people in your life right now that you will return to, on what feels like your darkest day – and they will remind you of exactly where you are now, and that will bring you peace. There is love where you stand – sit where you are and love there.
I won’t spoil it for you, but mad things are happening – you’re realising one of those dreams, not even the bait one either – the dream you can’t even open your mouth to say yet – imagine that.
Life is moving like the unfolding of a book you’ve read twice – or a story you wrote once; on the back of a bendy bus, driving through Dalston with a bag too small for your books and pockets too small for your coins.
Summon me when you need me, teach me how to summon you. I’ve been treating you abit like Rachel for a few years but in the same way we are inextricably linked – people call me the name she gave you; I am made up of all the fragments that broke in you – I am the reason they broke.
Get on the bus and dream again, look through that window and tell me what to do – I am here – I’ll go outside and bend it for you.”