A couple hours before their Rough Trade show, the three members of Lolawolf were perched in a hallway-sized green room. The band consists of Zoe Kravitz (daughter of Lenny Kravitz and Lisa Bonet), Jimmy Giannopoulos, and James Levy (both of the dolefully upbeat band Reputante). Their electro-R&B band is a little over a year old with one full album released a month ago called Calm Down and a big tour with Miley Cyrus and Lily Allen just under their belt.
They express comfort that they’re back in front of a smaller crowd that they can “get energy from,” as Zoe puts it. And they prefer to play close together, looking one another in the eye. Jimmy confirms this, as he offers me a plate of snacks. I twist the pita to dive back into the hummus, announcing that I wouldn’t double dip. “Oh you can double dip,” says Jimmy with strong assurance. “Of course you can,” Zoe says, “You’re with the right people.”
Good group vibes like these pervade Lolawolf. They’re relaxed, accommodating, sharing with each other. Jimmy recalls the last time they went on stage, Zoe checked an outfit with him, as he was taking his flannel off. Simultaneously they realized that was the missing element for her. “We dress each other,” Zoe says smiling kindly.
Half-considered outfit changes speak to the spontaneity that dominates Lolawolf. Zoe says they write songs quickly; they’ll take a concept, an idea, a character, or story and it’s done in 24 hours. This can come across as slightly lackadaisical. In many interviews, the band resists questions that blandly pry into intention. They want to be creating, and they’re interested in creating, not in the explaining of it.
They make music because they want to and they wanted something from it (danceability). “The way my brain goes, if the beat is good enough that’s the first thing I pay attention to," Zoe says. "Lyrics are last.”
“Lyrics are last, but they’re the most important,” Jimmy adds.
“Lyrics are last, but if the beat is really fucking good, they can say the dumbest shit and I don’t care,” Zoe continues. “If it makes me want to dance, I justify whatever they’re saying in my head. There is rarely going to be a time when you go: The lyrics are good, but the song’s not.”
Lolawolf’s lyrics—floated by good hooks—are lovely, sensitive things. They are usually consciously removed, often about a denial of feelings, but not denying that denial. Like “I want to know what love it; I hope it’s not you” or “I don’t fuck around with the truth anymore.” I talk to Zoe about this Catch 22 of admitting you’re lying. “A lot of these songs are like diaries for me; I was trying to be as honest as I possibly could be. I’m really trying to bullshit a lot less, now that I’m older.”
The bluntness of the lyrics doesn’t quite hit at first; the sound cushions it with danceability. The beats are tense; the melody is smooth. This can also be explained, metaphorically, by the recording locations in both the Bahamas and Las Vegas. It’s tropical and relaxed meets dark and weird. Lolawolf’s songs are usually described with a buffet of references to sounds of the '90s, frequently cited by the band (Salt ’n Pepper, No Doubt, TLC, Fiona Apple, Aaliyah). These references are often checked with a note to a techy sound. It’
They express comfort that they’re back in front of a smaller crowd that they can “get energy from,” as Zoe puts it. And they prefer to play close together, looking one another in the eye. Jimmy confirms this, as he offers me a plate of snacks. I twist the pita to dive back into the hummus, announcing that I wouldn’t double dip. “Oh you can double dip,” says Jimmy with strong assurance. “Of course you can,” Zoe says, “You’re with the right people.”
Good group vibes like these pervade Lolawolf. They’re relaxed, accommodating, sharing with each other. Jimmy recalls the last time they went on stage, Zoe checked an outfit with him, as he was taking his flannel off. Simultaneously they realized that was the missing element for her. “We dress each other,” Zoe says smiling kindly.
Half-considered outfit changes speak to the spontaneity that dominates Lolawolf. Zoe says they write songs quickly; they’ll take a concept, an idea, a character, or story and it’s done in 24 hours. This can come across as slightly lackadaisical. In many interviews, the band resists questions that blandly pry into intention. They want to be creating, and they’re interested in creating, not in the explaining of it.
They make music because they want to and they wanted something from it (danceability). “The way my brain goes, if the beat is good enough that’s the first thing I pay attention to," Zoe says. "Lyrics are last.”
“Lyrics are last, but they’re the most important,” Jimmy adds.
“Lyrics are last, but if the beat is really fucking good, they can say the dumbest shit and I don’t care,” Zoe continues. “If it makes me want to dance, I justify whatever they’re saying in my head. There is rarely going to be a time when you go: The lyrics are good, but the song’s not.”
Lolawolf’s lyrics—floated by good hooks—are lovely, sensitive things. They are usually consciously removed, often about a denial of feelings, but not denying that denial. Like “I want to know what love it; I hope it’s not you” or “I don’t fuck around with the truth anymore.” I talk to Zoe about this Catch 22 of admitting you’re lying. “A lot of these songs are like diaries for me; I was trying to be as honest as I possibly could be. I’m really trying to bullshit a lot less, now that I’m older.”
The bluntness of the lyrics doesn’t quite hit at first; the sound cushions it with danceability. The beats are tense; the melody is smooth. This can also be explained, metaphorically, by the recording locations in both the Bahamas and Las Vegas. It’s tropical and relaxed meets dark and weird. Lolawolf’s songs are usually described with a buffet of references to sounds of the '90s, frequently cited by the band (Salt ’n Pepper, No Doubt, TLC, Fiona Apple, Aaliyah). These references are often checked with a note to a techy sound. It’