On “Ditto,” the last track on My Face Hurts From Smiling, a surprising rap mixtape from a certain four-time Grammy winner, the star in question declares, “It’s a Lizzo summerrrrrrr.” The tape — which Lizzo finalized a mere 10 minutes before we meet on Zoom — does make a strong case for that to be true. (A rep sent Rolling Stone the nearly-complete project, which is out today, a few hours earlier.)
The 13 songs on My Face Hurts From Smiling are some of Lizzo’s most exciting and down-to-earth music ever, raging with Dirty South influence and high-powered by the rap-girl renaissance she never thought she’d see. It includes her infectious freestyle to Pluto and YK Niece’s viral hit “Whim Whamiee,” here named “Yitty on Yo Titties,” alluding to both Lizzo’s shapewear brand and a line in her version of the song. In fact, the success of Lizzo’s unofficial remix online inspired her to make a whole tape. The version on the My Face Hurts, though, uses a slightly different beat by iconic Atlanta producer Zaytoven, who originally gave the 2012 banger that “Whim Whamiee” samples, “Wham Bam,” to DJ Cool Breeze and OJ Da Juiceman.
“Zaytoven is a huge part of this project as a producer as well,” Lizzo says. “He inspired so much and he’s a legend.” Armed with heat by producers including Tay Keith, the rapper is lyrically letting the chopper sing, whether she’s playfully ogling a dick that’s “bigger than Druski” (“which is a compliment,” Lizzo tells me) on one song or declaring that she’s got some “brand-new bitches on the team/Put some big-back bitches on your screen,” on “Crashout.” Then there’s the instantly anthemic “Still Can’t Fuh” with none other than Doja Cat (in one of her best guest verses in recent memory), where Lizzo teases, “City Girls up, boys on their deriod.”
Lizzo very recently began recording the project, she tells me: “The process for this mixtape has been honestly one of the most rewarding, fulfilling, exciting, and healing I’ve had in a long time as an artist and as a person. It’s only been two weeks, but it’s been the happiest two weeks I’ve had in such a long time, and I genuinely feel like it cured my depression. And you don’t realize you’re really depressed until you’re out of it, but I was like, ‘Oh, wait, I was really down bad. I needed this.’” She says My Face Hurts From Smiling marked the first time in years that she allowed herself complete creative freedom, with no one telling her what to say, how to sound, or how to feel. Now a marquee artist on Atlantic Records’ roster, she found herself reminded of what it was like to be an independent artist roughly a decade ago.
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“It felt really, really good and refreshing not being told what to do,” she says. “And a lot of times it’s out of protection for me, because I also am in a place now where there’s certain things I can’t post on the internet. There’s certain things I can’t say anymore. There’s certain things I can’t put on my TikTok, though I really want to. And that was really suffocating me because the only thing that brings me joy in this life is expressing myself — expressing myself talking, expressing myself through my art, expressing myself through music, talking to friends, chopping it up, getting on Instagram Live and just running my mouth, getting on Twitch and just running my mouth, getting on stage and running my mouth, talking to you and running my mouth. So imagine for two and a half years people telling you, ‘You can’t do that.’ You know?”
Nearly two years ago, three of Lizzo’s former dancers leveled a lawsuit against her that the parties are still fighting out in court. The dancers’ accusations are vivid and serious, alleging a toxic work environment and sexual harassment by Lizzo and her staff through inappropriate and coercive language and strip club outings. The claims challenged the kind, charitable, feminist, body-positive persona Lizzo had garnered. In recent years, Lizzo has also had to settle with 14 of her dancers after an intimate moment between them was included in 2022’s Love, Lizzo documentary without their consent and was sued by a former wardrobe stylist alleging a hostile work environment as well. (Though she was individually dismissed from the stylist’s suit, her company was not.) In the case of the three dancers, earlier this month, her lawyers filed an appeal of their lawsuit, calling it an “attack” on Lizzo’s “First Amendment right to perform her music and advocate for body positivity.”
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When I begin to ask Lizzo, then, what it meant to record so freely while claiming the plaintiffs have attempted to stifle her creativity by allegedly misconstruing the work environment she fostered, a representative who has been muted on the call quickly cuts me off. “Hi, we’re going to skip this question,” says the rep. “We’re not going to be able to talk about anything related to the court case or anything, so let’s go to the next one.”
Yet the specter of the lawsuits and their fallout seems to linger around our conversation, though Lizzo doesn’t name them explicitly. As we talk, she continues to detail recent bouts of “dark times,” “lost confidence,” and “trauma” from public backlash and fraught friendships. In turn, much of My Face Hurts From Smiling is downright flippant. “I got a song called ‘Cut Em Off’ where it’s like, ‘Now she asking if we still cool — ffffffffffffffffuck no,’” she says when I ask her her favorite bars on the mixtape. “I hold out the long F. I just say a lot of things on my chest that I just really have been wanting to say for a long time, you know what I’m saying?”
Here, Lizzo goes deep on what makes her “unfuckwithable,” how random Black folks calling her Lizzy inspired her rap alter ego, why Doja Cat told her “I’m ready to spread my lips in the studio,” how her upcoming album Love in Real Life is coming along, and what preparing to play rock innovator Sister Rosetta Tharpe on film has been like.
So tell me what the process has been like. If you just approved the master 10 minutes ago, when did this start?
So what happened was I have a song called “Bitch” that’s coming out in the fall, but I needed to do radio versions of it, because it’s called “Bitch.” So on a whim, no pun intended, I got the beat for “Whim Whamiee” and went in the studio and was like, “While I’m doing my clean version for ‘Bitch,’ I’m going to just lay down a verse real quick on this song that I just think is so fire.” I put that shit on the internet, and the response was so overwhelmingly positive. It was both sides of the internet being like, “We didn’t know Lizzo could rap.” “Y’all forgot Lizzo could rap?” “We want this, we want this.”
And I was like, “The album that I’m putting out is not this at all.” The album that I’m putting out is two years of really constructed… my pop, rock, rap genre of music. It’s a little moodier, it’s a little darker. It talks about the dark times. I was like, “This is the complete opposite of what me in my backyard shaking ass in a Yitty thong is. But I had so much fun doing that, and I did that shit so fast.” I was like, “Book me in the studio for a week.”
I went in and I hit up my A&Rs and I hit up my producer friends and I said, “Send me beat packs,” which I never do! I’m very, like, “We have to make the song in the studio together at the same time.” I got all of these beat packs from all of these incredible producers. I flew my bestie in from Houston, my childhood friend from fourth grade, Lexo, and I just started just going. I wrote like four songs a day for four days. And I made a 12-song mixtape. And I am just so fucking happy and so proud of it because it was just like me freestyling again. I came up freestyle rapping because in Houston, it’s kind of like what you do.
There’s a line I really loved where you say, “Ghetto girl from H-Town taking thot pics at Hot Topic.” As a girl who grew up in between cultures — my family is from West Africa, I grew up in a white suburb, I’m Black — that line reminded me of the experience so many Black girls have of dancing through these different worlds. You know?
Yeah, that line is really important to me. That’s on “Ditto.” “Ghetto girl from H-Town taking thot pics at Hot Topic,” that was literally my truth. And I think a lot of Black girls who grew up like that — there’s a lot of us, and I don’t think we get the representation.
I grew up in southwest Alief, Texas, in Houston, and the area that I grew up in is very multicultural, very Black, very Mexican, very Vietnamese, Nigerian, and it’s like hood-ish, you know what I’m saying? But then you have someone like me. I was listening to rock music, I was watching anime, but I still would do Freestyle Friday on 97.9 The Box. So I’m very proud to represent that kind of girl. I don’t know what the name is. They always say “alternative” or “nerdy,” or I don’t know what it is, but that’s who we are, baby. We’re at the Hot Topic at First Colony Mall. Exactly.
You talked about not feeling the normal limits or expectations on this project because you decided very quickly to do it. Doechii describes her Grammy-winning mixtape Alligator Bites Never Heal similarly. From your perspective, does it feel like the industry is shifting to allow more artists to do that?
I don’t know. I think as an individual, my individual story is that I had to kind of assert myself a little bit and be like, “Hey, this isn’t feeling right. This is what I want to do.” This isn’t a narrative, this isn’t planned. This really happened to me, so I’m still in it, experiencing it. So I don’t know if there’s a shift happening in the industry, but there’s a shift happening with me, for sure, where it’s like I am stepping into and reclaiming my lane as an artist, reclaiming my confidence that I lost.
What was your relationship with music like over the span of this depression you said you lived through, and how long was that span?
My relationship with music was still very intense. I still am like, “Music saved my life,” because there were really dark moments when I was working on Love in Real Life, my album, where I was like, “OK, I don’t think I can make it through the day, but I have to go to the studio.” I was still saying a lot of things, but the difference is a lot of the things that I said and a lot of the songs that I wrote didn’t make the album. I would be like, “That felt good to say, but you can’t put that out.” Versus this mixtape is like, “I’m going to just say it. I don’t give a fuck. All right. ‘I’ve been fat and I’ve been skinny/Bitches still ain’t fucking with me.’” I don’t think that could ever be on a Lizzo song. I would’ve been so scared to put that in something like “About Damn Time” or “Juice.”
Well, what is that fear about? What’s the basis?
The basis of the fear is the possibility of offending somebody. I didn’t want to offend people. Even back when I wrote “Truth Hurts,” I said, “I will never ever, ever, ever, ever be a side chick” in the original. And then I was like, “Mm, but what if I offend side chicks?” And so I was like, “I will never ever, ever, ever, ever be your side chick.” I always overthink these things because I know who’s consuming my music and I’m very [concerned about] how they’re going to feel, how it’s going to affect them. But it’s like — to keep it very, very funky with you — everybody’s offended by everything today, so it’s impossible to not offend somebody. So it’s like, just say what you want to say. Just say whatever you want to say.
How did you get to a place where you’re like, “Fuck it”?
You know, I’ll say this. I’m unfuckwithable. I’ve been fucked with in a really, really painful way. In a deep way. I feel like I’ve had a lot of… I don’t even know how to describe it. I’ve had a lot of trauma from my relationship with the public and being backlashed and being canceled for various all sorts of things. I’ve dealt with really painful friendship situations. And I think when you come out on the other side of that and you get a little older, you’re like, “There’s nothing you can say about me anymore. There’s nothing anybody can say.“
Being bullied for being fat on the internet for five years straight, being the butt of every fat joke, having my pictures turned into bombs blowing up the world and shit — you can’t really hurt my feelings now. And I’m not afraid to hurt your feelings, because you clearly aren’t afraid to hurt mine. So that’s what this relationship is going to be. I’m going to say what I want to say and you’re going to say what you want to say.
With so much Southern rap inspiration on the mixtape, what have you been listening to?
To be honest with you, this comes from my soul. I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t listen to music that often. I hyperfixate on songs, so I’ll listen to the Bad Bunny album every day over and over and over, or I’ll listen to Renaissance over and over, or I’ll listen to the same playlist of BunnaB, Pluto, and Bankroll Ni. I’ll listen to playlists, but all of this rap shit and all this Southern shit, that is just like, 12-year-old me banging on the table in the lunchroom, in the back of the bus freestyling. It’s the most natural, guttural thing. It’s like Cornrow Clique Lizzo. You know what I’m saying? My first rap crew. So I wasn’t even really influenced or inspired by anything right now except for this person inside of me who’s been trying to come out. They’ve been calling her Lizzy. I’m like, “OK. If Lizzy wants to come out, let Lizzy out.”
Do people in your life call you Lizzy?
No. You know who call me Lizzy? Black people. I’ll be out and they’ll be like, “What’s up, Lizzy?“ I swear to God. For years, they’ll be like, “What’s up, Lizzy?” I’m like, “Hey!” I don’t know if they think my name is Liz or Elizabeth, but we, like us, call me Lizzy. And I just think that that’s so funny that this has happened now, where I feel like I have this rap persona that’s Lizzy versus Lizzo the pop star — because I swear every time I’m out, Black people always call me Lizzy. I’m like, “OK, I’ll be Lizzy then.”
What did it feel like in the studio, making the mixtape with your best friend? I’m curious about what other women in rap you’ve shared this experience with.
I flew my bestie in because she’s my ultimate hype woman. [Lizzo starts to fight tears] Oh, gosh, don’t get emotional, Melissa. Calm down. Woo! All right, we’re back. I was like, “I need her. I need her right now.” So I wrote a shit ton of songs and I planned it out. I was like, “By the time she lands, I’m going to get her in here to do the ad libs and the additional vocals,” and it just timed out perfectly. I flew her in halfway through the process and was like, “Yo, just go crazy. Take two shots of tequila. I’m going to run the track and you just give me ad libs.” So if you listen to “Crashout,” when you hear, “Talk your shit, Bitch,” that’s Lexo. She just added a special energy to it all.
Is she an artist herself?
No, she’s not an artist. She’s just my friend. She didn’t write anything, but she just added her energy to the sessions and to the tracks actually, so I’m so grateful for her. She’s been on “About Damn Time.” You’ve heard her voice on my songs, but this time I was like, “I need her to do an ad lib pass.” She did on “Crashout.” She did additional vocals on “Just for Fun,” “Ditto,” and “Cut Em Off.” That’s my girl. But on “Gotcho Bitch,” where I was like, “Nicki gotcho bitch, Doja gotcho bitch, SZA gotcho bitch, Cardi gotcho bitch, JT gotcho bitch, Megan gotcho bitch, Sexyy gotcho bitch, GloRilla gotcho bitch, Latto gotcho bitch,” and the list goes on and on and on, I want to bring… I truly feel like, for me, this is a dream. The state of female rap right now is my wildest dream.
When I first came into the scene as an indie rapper, when I was promoting Lizzobangers in 2013, there weren’t that many Black girls rapping. And they would ask me all the time, “How does it feel to be a female rapper in a male-dominated industry?” And it’s so crazy because no one gets that question anymore because it doesn’t exist. It’s not male-dominated. It’s low-key female-dominated. And that is so exciting to me.
I’ve had a lot of conversations with Missy Elliott. I’ve had a lot of conversations with Lil’ Kim and Da Brat, and I would talk to them about what it was like in that first heyday of female rap. And they were like, “It was like family. There was so much unity. And we would pull up to each other’s music video sets and have sleepovers.” And I kind of feel like that track was me bringing a piece of that to now. I want to represent unity and the sisterhood of female rap right now. There’s just so many incredible girls and they’re all winning, and I’m so proud of all of them and so inspired by all of them. Some of them I can’t even say that I’m proud of because they’re legends. They’re icons. I always feel like it’s a little disrespectful. You can’t say you proud of an icon, bitch. Just pay your respects.
But I’m so in awe of where we’re at, all of these Black girls rapping their asses off and moving and shaking the culture, changing the language. Everybody says “Period” now because of the City Girls. Black people been saying “Period,” but it’s culturally relevant and now everybody’s saying that shit. The impact that all of these women have had is so inspiring to me. So yeah, that was me and my way of being like, “We run this shit,” and I hope people like it.
Tell me about how “Still Can’t Fuh” with Doja Cat came together.
That song was funny. I work with this incredible songwriter and producer. His name is Theron Thomas. And he was like, “There’s this girl who posted a video of her at carnival, Caribbean carnival, and she had the little outfit on that they wear [to play Mas] and she walked by and she was like, “I got all this on and you still can’t fuh.” And that was just like, “Why haven’t we written this song before?” Like, “Oh, you think I owe you pussy ’cause I’m in your section?” I’ve seen so many videos on TikTok of guys [after a date] being like, “So can I come inside?” And the girl’s like, “No.” He’s like, “I bought you dinner. I did all of this for you. I can’t come inside?” And they crash out on them and start getting very violent and weird. And some of them are rage-baiting and fake and staged, but it reflects a real dynamic.
I kind of wanted to write a song for the bad bitches who are just like, “Uh, uh, uh. You know that you can do all of this and I still don’t owe you my body?” I don’t actually owe you shit because I’m assuming you did it because you wanted to. Don’t do nothing for me and expect something in return because you’re not going to get it unless I want to give you it. And so for that record, I didn’t even write a second verse because I knew Doja Cat was the person for it. Then they were like, “We need a sample of somebody saying something crazy.” I immediately was like, “Shera Seven.” [Seven is a popular TikToker with the catchphrase “Sprinkle Sprinkle”] I was like, “We got to get Sprinkle Sprinkle.” Didn’t nobody know who Sprinkle Sprinkle was in the room because it was a bunch of guys. I was like, “Yeah, y’all wouldn’t know who she was because she’s our leader.”
So I found a clip of her in five minutes. I was like, “This is the clip.” We slid that in there, and then when the beat dropped, I was like, “I have to give this to Doja Cat. There’s no one else for this song.” I sent her a voice memo and was like, “I’m doing some ratchet shit.” And she was like, “I’m ready to spread my lips in the studio.”
And she hopped on and wrote her verse in an hour. I’m telling you, she FaceTimed me. She said, “This shit hard. I’ll be right back.” And then she FaceTimed me back in like 30 minutes. Her verse was done. And the rest is history.
Maybe the headline is “I’m ready to spread my lips in the studio.”
I know! That’s my dog, man. We go way back. We toured together back in 2017. So I got history with her and I’ve always admired her and have always wanted to work with her. And I’m so glad we’re finally getting our moment together.
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You’re playing Sister Rosetta Tharpe in an upcoming film. What has that process been like? Have you shot that already?
I have not shot it. Oh my gosh, that’s so funny. Whew, I’ve been in rap land and I got to come back out. I’ve been learning guitar. [She motions to a guitar stationed behind her.] I started guitar this year for this role. I fought to produce and make this film happen. We’ve been working on this for five years. She is the creator of rock & roll, and is a Black queer woman. Her story deserves to be told. We would not have none of this shit if it wasn’t for her deciding to amplify her guitar. I’m so excited to share that story. I’m in music mode right now. I’m a little bit in the album mode, but once I get out, it’s going to be movie mode.
So there’s a lot of modes. We got summer mixtape, shaking ass in the backyard mode, and then we have an album, and then we have a film. How are you feeling about this year?
Yo, I’m feeling amazing now. Like, shit. I wasn’t feeling bad before, but I do feel like a brand-new bitch, you know? I feel like I’ve evolved. I learned a lot about myself and I learned good things about myself and I’m really happy about it. I need to be creating all the time. That’s my new thing. I used to compartmentalize creating and now I’m like, “No, girl. You need a studio in the house. You need to be writing songs. You need to be getting your creative vision off and you need to trust your vision too.” And I’m really, really happy.
