Angel Haze

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AngelHaze

i been smacking bitches since the 5th grade. old ladies, idc about a bitch age.


Biography

If hip-hop's most central tenet is to keep it real, Angel Haze passes with flying colours. Ever since she first started putting ferocious, cathartic mixtapes online as a teenager, it's been her raw, unvarnished honesty that has seen her accrue a devoted following as she's carved out hitherto uncharted territory in the genre. Willing to address subjects that few others are, and able to do it in a thrillingly unique way, Haze's hip-hop confessionals strike a chord with fans who see their lives reflected in what she talks about.

Born Raykeea Wilson in Detroit 22 years ago, Angel Haze's life has ... Read more

If hip-hop's most central tenet is to keep it real, Angel Haze passes with flying colours. Ever since she first started putting ferocious, cathartic mixtapes online as a teenager, it's been her raw, unvarnished honesty that has seen her accrue a devoted following as she's carved out hitherto uncharted territory in the genre. Willing to address subjects that few others are, and able to do it in a thrillingly unique way, Haze's hip-hop confessionals strike a chord with fans who see their lives reflected in what she talks about.

Born Raykeea Wilson in Detroit 22 years ago, Angel Haze's life has provided her with plenty to confront - and a lot to get off her chest. She was raised in the Pentecostal Greater Apostolic Faith, a secretive religious community that isolated itself from the outside world and which she now calls a "cult". She and her mother escaped to New York when Haze was 15 - and it was there that she discovered that music could be an outlet for the thoughts and feelings inside her. Early mixtapes - New Moon (2010), Altered Ego (2011), King (2011) - found her both spitting furious battle raps and pouring her heart into 4am love poetry over a diverse array of beats: contemporary rap hits, acoustic folk-hop, even bits of grime she'd found online. An outsider at school, she found refuge in the internet, building up a following of like-minded souls with her unfiltered social media presences: on Youtube, Tumblr and Twitter, just as in her music, Haze waxed alternately sarcastic, philosophical and angry.

2012 saw Haze take her work to the next level: Reservation, technically a free mixtape, found her rapping over original beats for the first time - and the resulting work was as tight, coherent and accomplished as any album. The clattering braggadocio of "New York" and "Werkin' Girls", both accompanied by suitably sinister videos, saw her gain both blog buzz and radio traction, with the former A-listed at 1Xtra; the album's deep cuts ranged from the gothic nightmare of "Wicked Moon" to the heartfelt, pastoral love song "Gypsy Letters". But it was another track, released without fanfare later that year, that made the world sit up and take notice - after it punched them in the gut first. On "Cleaning Out My Closet", a rework of the Eminem single, Haze tackled in harrowing, visceral detail the sexual abuse she'd suffered as a child.

"I didn't realise the platform I had til I put that out," Haze says. "I thought that was just cathartic, just for me - a means of release. But the response was so major - so many people identified with it and told me I spoke their story. There's power in knowing you have a voice that can be used for those who don't. To know that if you feel a certain way and you say it, there's a chance that a million other people will feel the exact same way. You're never alone."

When Haze performed "Cleaning Out My Closet" live for the first and, she says, last time at London's Scala in May, it reduced the crowd first to silence - and then, as it reached the survivor's triumph of its conclusion, a surge of cheers and applause. It was a testament to the power of both the song and the intensity of Haze's live show - one that's since been honed at festivals from Reading to Roskilde over the summer, Haze conscientiously taking notes on other performers from Ke$ha to Kings Of Leon. On stage I want to be able to jump around, I want it to be a full-on rock show," she says. But the most revelatory aspect of going on the road has been encountering her loyal fans in real life for the first time: "It's kind of dumbfounding, because I rarely ever know how to feel about how people feel about me - but to see it manifest physically, where it's not a tweet or a Tumblr question, when you can see people in front of you and they're freaking the fuck out because you're there, it's amazing," Haze marvels. "I'll never get over it, ever."

All of this has fed into the making of Haze's debut album proper, Dirty Gold. "Writing it was like a Rubik's Cube," Haze muses. "Going around and twisting it 'til you get the colours perfect." The transition from underground mixtape up-and-comer to major label star has often been a tough one for rappers to navigate, but Haze has always had a clear idea of what she wanted Dirty Gold to be. "I wanted to push the boundaries a bit," she explains. "To make it as diverse as who I am and what I like. Sonically, I wanted it to sound bigger and more complete. To sound epic."

Epic is exactly the word for it. Produced in collaboration, for the most part, with producer Markus Dravs, Dirty Goldshares both the out-there sonic experimentation that marked Dravs' work with Björk and the widescreen, stadium-ready feel that characterised his work with The Arcade Fire and Coldplay - all topped with Haze's words of rage and deep feeling, as rapid-fire and passionate as they've ever been. Discordant bass drones and eerie electronics dominate the dark romance "Deep Sea Diver"; on the flip side, Haze explores the hopeless nature of that love on the piano-driven ballad "Planes Fly", inspired by one of her favourite songs ever - Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car". As she's hinted at recently, Haze went through "a bad break-up" while writing and recording the album - and her obsession with doomed love is a recurring theme throughout. "I think I don't have a chance in hell at true love and actual happiness!" she exclaims. "Happiness is fleeting, it's a reminder to you so that when you're going through bad shit, you remember the time you were happy and you can get there again. It's all about working towards this feeling that's so fucking fleeting - to attain what it is to be content." In songs such as "April's Fool" and "Deep Sea Diver", Haze seeks to capture these fleeting moments in musical form.

Often, Dirty Gold feels like a rap album crossed with a confessional singer-songwriter album - a description that pleases Haze immensely. "Markus always obsessed over making me remember I was a poet first, then a rapper," she explains. "Every track was approached from a writer's stance rather than a rapper's one." Illustrating this are two of the most powerful songs on the album - both character studies of sorts in their different ways. On "Black Dahlia", Haze tackles her dysfunctional relationship with her mother by addressing a younger version of her, drawing the lines between the damage both women have suffered and finally rewriting a happy ending for her. As ever, Haze's mind goes to darker places than most as she imagines erasing herself so that neither daughter nor mother would have to suffer the consequences of their relationship. Haze dismisses the idea that her mother will hear it - "She'll go out of her way to avoid it" - though admits she wants her to. "I don't see it ever working out, though."

Meanwhile, "White Lilies And White Lies" is a strip club anthem with a difference: with its heavy bass drops, it may sound like a fitting soundtrack for a pole dancer, but lyrically it examines Haze's conflicted, confused feelings for a stripper friend and her job: Haze's thoughtfulness and intelligence cut sharply through the drunken, hedonistic fug.

Two further collaborators are of particular significance to Haze. A Tribe Called Red, a Native American electro pow-wow collective who hail from Ottawa, are friends of long standing - and when they sent Haze a beat, she says, "It blew Markus and I away." With good reason: the track that shares its name with the collective is a cauldron of oscillating synthwork, chants, claps and hollers, Haze rising to the occasion by throwing in even more vocal switch-ups than usual. It's also a means for the self-taught Tsalagi speaker to nod to her own Native American heritage. "Race and eethnicity is not important to me - my music is wholly who I am" she asserts. "But it's good to slip it under the radar."

Meanwhile, Haze joins forces with the Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Sia for the inspirational "Battle Cry", on which she flips her own traumatic experiences into the ability to lead her fanbase through their own lives. What makes it even more special is that Sia's own "Breathe Me" holds a special place in Haze's heart. "When I was feeling suicidal, I'd go to sleep with that song on. And I'd either feel like my entire world was closing in on me or, in some strange, euphoric way, I was becoming stronger." It's a subject Haze addresses elsewhere on the album, on the powerful "Angels And Airwaves" - a reworking of one of Haze's old poems, "If You're Contemplating Suicide", in song form. "It's probably the song I would make for myself back then," she says. Now, she reaches out to others: "The mental state, the physical state, the aliveness of my fanbase means everything to me," she states. "I'll sit there all night long and talk to them. As much as I hate and do not wish ever to be referred to as a role model, my living - regardless of whether or not I get drunk or do stupid shit or fight with people - is an example for them. The important thing is to keep living, because at some point your story is going to impact someone else…"

Not that Haze can't lighten the mood when she wants. Lead single "Echelon" is a tremendously propulsive hip-hop summer jam that showcases her underrated sense of fun, returning to the rat-a-tat chat that she does with such panache. "I'm in that new-school G5 wagon, colour of a komodo dragon," she brags with her typical inventiveness.

Haze says that the final shape of Dirty Gold came together in her head only three weeks before she finished recording it. "I'd been trying to replicate some perfect album I had in my head," she admits. A confluence of conversations changed this. First, a suggestion from a friend that she write a song about her mother (resulting in "`§") that led to her scrolling through old, saved voicemails ("I have a disgusting habit of recording all my conversations with people - something gold can come out of everything"). And second, Haze's favourite poet, Andrea Gibson, telling her: "Music is a trapdoor: it locks you in." Dirty Gold is the product of this: scrolling through Angel Haze's multifaceted identity, memories and experiences to create a piece of art you can't look away from.

This biography was provided by the artist or their representative.

If hip-hop's most central tenet is to keep it real, Angel Haze passes with flying colours. Ever since she first started putting ferocious, cathartic mixtapes online as a teenager, it's been her raw, unvarnished honesty that has seen her accrue a devoted following as she's carved out hitherto uncharted territory in the genre. Willing to address subjects that few others are, and able to do it in a thrillingly unique way, Haze's hip-hop confessionals strike a chord with fans who see their lives reflected in what she talks about.

Born Raykeea Wilson in Detroit 22 years ago, Angel Haze's life has provided her with plenty to confront - and a lot to get off her chest. She was raised in the Pentecostal Greater Apostolic Faith, a secretive religious community that isolated itself from the outside world and which she now calls a "cult". She and her mother escaped to New York when Haze was 15 - and it was there that she discovered that music could be an outlet for the thoughts and feelings inside her. Early mixtapes - New Moon (2010), Altered Ego (2011), King (2011) - found her both spitting furious battle raps and pouring her heart into 4am love poetry over a diverse array of beats: contemporary rap hits, acoustic folk-hop, even bits of grime she'd found online. An outsider at school, she found refuge in the internet, building up a following of like-minded souls with her unfiltered social media presences: on Youtube, Tumblr and Twitter, just as in her music, Haze waxed alternately sarcastic, philosophical and angry.

2012 saw Haze take her work to the next level: Reservation, technically a free mixtape, found her rapping over original beats for the first time - and the resulting work was as tight, coherent and accomplished as any album. The clattering braggadocio of "New York" and "Werkin' Girls", both accompanied by suitably sinister videos, saw her gain both blog buzz and radio traction, with the former A-listed at 1Xtra; the album's deep cuts ranged from the gothic nightmare of "Wicked Moon" to the heartfelt, pastoral love song "Gypsy Letters". But it was another track, released without fanfare later that year, that made the world sit up and take notice - after it punched them in the gut first. On "Cleaning Out My Closet", a rework of the Eminem single, Haze tackled in harrowing, visceral detail the sexual abuse she'd suffered as a child.

"I didn't realise the platform I had til I put that out," Haze says. "I thought that was just cathartic, just for me - a means of release. But the response was so major - so many people identified with it and told me I spoke their story. There's power in knowing you have a voice that can be used for those who don't. To know that if you feel a certain way and you say it, there's a chance that a million other people will feel the exact same way. You're never alone."

When Haze performed "Cleaning Out My Closet" live for the first and, she says, last time at London's Scala in May, it reduced the crowd first to silence - and then, as it reached the survivor's triumph of its conclusion, a surge of cheers and applause. It was a testament to the power of both the song and the intensity of Haze's live show - one that's since been honed at festivals from Reading to Roskilde over the summer, Haze conscientiously taking notes on other performers from Ke$ha to Kings Of Leon. On stage I want to be able to jump around, I want it to be a full-on rock show," she says. But the most revelatory aspect of going on the road has been encountering her loyal fans in real life for the first time: "It's kind of dumbfounding, because I rarely ever know how to feel about how people feel about me - but to see it manifest physically, where it's not a tweet or a Tumblr question, when you can see people in front of you and they're freaking the fuck out because you're there, it's amazing," Haze marvels. "I'll never get over it, ever."

All of this has fed into the making of Haze's debut album proper, Dirty Gold. "Writing it was like a Rubik's Cube," Haze muses. "Going around and twisting it 'til you get the colours perfect." The transition from underground mixtape up-and-comer to major label star has often been a tough one for rappers to navigate, but Haze has always had a clear idea of what she wanted Dirty Gold to be. "I wanted to push the boundaries a bit," she explains. "To make it as diverse as who I am and what I like. Sonically, I wanted it to sound bigger and more complete. To sound epic."

Epic is exactly the word for it. Produced in collaboration, for the most part, with producer Markus Dravs, Dirty Goldshares both the out-there sonic experimentation that marked Dravs' work with Björk and the widescreen, stadium-ready feel that characterised his work with The Arcade Fire and Coldplay - all topped with Haze's words of rage and deep feeling, as rapid-fire and passionate as they've ever been. Discordant bass drones and eerie electronics dominate the dark romance "Deep Sea Diver"; on the flip side, Haze explores the hopeless nature of that love on the piano-driven ballad "Planes Fly", inspired by one of her favourite songs ever - Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car". As she's hinted at recently, Haze went through "a bad break-up" while writing and recording the album - and her obsession with doomed love is a recurring theme throughout. "I think I don't have a chance in hell at true love and actual happiness!" she exclaims. "Happiness is fleeting, it's a reminder to you so that when you're going through bad shit, you remember the time you were happy and you can get there again. It's all about working towards this feeling that's so fucking fleeting - to attain what it is to be content." In songs such as "April's Fool" and "Deep Sea Diver", Haze seeks to capture these fleeting moments in musical form.

Often, Dirty Gold feels like a rap album crossed with a confessional singer-songwriter album - a description that pleases Haze immensely. "Markus always obsessed over making me remember I was a poet first, then a rapper," she explains. "Every track was approached from a writer's stance rather than a rapper's one." Illustrating this are two of the most powerful songs on the album - both character studies of sorts in their different ways. On "Black Dahlia", Haze tackles her dysfunctional relationship with her mother by addressing a younger version of her, drawing the lines between the damage both women have suffered and finally rewriting a happy ending for her. As ever, Haze's mind goes to darker places than most as she imagines erasing herself so that neither daughter nor mother would have to suffer the consequences of their relationship. Haze dismisses the idea that her mother will hear it - "She'll go out of her way to avoid it" - though admits she wants her to. "I don't see it ever working out, though."

Meanwhile, "White Lilies And White Lies" is a strip club anthem with a difference: with its heavy bass drops, it may sound like a fitting soundtrack for a pole dancer, but lyrically it examines Haze's conflicted, confused feelings for a stripper friend and her job: Haze's thoughtfulness and intelligence cut sharply through the drunken, hedonistic fug.

Two further collaborators are of particular significance to Haze. A Tribe Called Red, a Native American electro pow-wow collective who hail from Ottawa, are friends of long standing - and when they sent Haze a beat, she says, "It blew Markus and I away." With good reason: the track that shares its name with the collective is a cauldron of oscillating synthwork, chants, claps and hollers, Haze rising to the occasion by throwing in even more vocal switch-ups than usual. It's also a means for the self-taught Tsalagi speaker to nod to her own Native American heritage. "Race and eethnicity is not important to me - my music is wholly who I am" she asserts. "But it's good to slip it under the radar."

Meanwhile, Haze joins forces with the Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Sia for the inspirational "Battle Cry", on which she flips her own traumatic experiences into the ability to lead her fanbase through their own lives. What makes it even more special is that Sia's own "Breathe Me" holds a special place in Haze's heart. "When I was feeling suicidal, I'd go to sleep with that song on. And I'd either feel like my entire world was closing in on me or, in some strange, euphoric way, I was becoming stronger." It's a subject Haze addresses elsewhere on the album, on the powerful "Angels And Airwaves" - a reworking of one of Haze's old poems, "If You're Contemplating Suicide", in song form. "It's probably the song I would make for myself back then," she says. Now, she reaches out to others: "The mental state, the physical state, the aliveness of my fanbase means everything to me," she states. "I'll sit there all night long and talk to them. As much as I hate and do not wish ever to be referred to as a role model, my living - regardless of whether or not I get drunk or do stupid shit or fight with people - is an example for them. The important thing is to keep living, because at some point your story is going to impact someone else…"

Not that Haze can't lighten the mood when she wants. Lead single "Echelon" is a tremendously propulsive hip-hop summer jam that showcases her underrated sense of fun, returning to the rat-a-tat chat that she does with such panache. "I'm in that new-school G5 wagon, colour of a komodo dragon," she brags with her typical inventiveness.

Haze says that the final shape of Dirty Gold came together in her head only three weeks before she finished recording it. "I'd been trying to replicate some perfect album I had in my head," she admits. A confluence of conversations changed this. First, a suggestion from a friend that she write a song about her mother (resulting in "`§") that led to her scrolling through old, saved voicemails ("I have a disgusting habit of recording all my conversations with people - something gold can come out of everything"). And second, Haze's favourite poet, Andrea Gibson, telling her: "Music is a trapdoor: it locks you in." Dirty Gold is the product of this: scrolling through Angel Haze's multifaceted identity, memories and experiences to create a piece of art you can't look away from.

This biography was provided by the artist or their representative.

If hip-hop's most central tenet is to keep it real, Angel Haze passes with flying colours. Ever since she first started putting ferocious, cathartic mixtapes online as a teenager, it's been her raw, unvarnished honesty that has seen her accrue a devoted following as she's carved out hitherto uncharted territory in the genre. Willing to address subjects that few others are, and able to do it in a thrillingly unique way, Haze's hip-hop confessionals strike a chord with fans who see their lives reflected in what she talks about.

Born Raykeea Wilson in Detroit 22 years ago, Angel Haze's life has provided her with plenty to confront - and a lot to get off her chest. She was raised in the Pentecostal Greater Apostolic Faith, a secretive religious community that isolated itself from the outside world and which she now calls a "cult". She and her mother escaped to New York when Haze was 15 - and it was there that she discovered that music could be an outlet for the thoughts and feelings inside her. Early mixtapes - New Moon (2010), Altered Ego (2011), King (2011) - found her both spitting furious battle raps and pouring her heart into 4am love poetry over a diverse array of beats: contemporary rap hits, acoustic folk-hop, even bits of grime she'd found online. An outsider at school, she found refuge in the internet, building up a following of like-minded souls with her unfiltered social media presences: on Youtube, Tumblr and Twitter, just as in her music, Haze waxed alternately sarcastic, philosophical and angry.

2012 saw Haze take her work to the next level: Reservation, technically a free mixtape, found her rapping over original beats for the first time - and the resulting work was as tight, coherent and accomplished as any album. The clattering braggadocio of "New York" and "Werkin' Girls", both accompanied by suitably sinister videos, saw her gain both blog buzz and radio traction, with the former A-listed at 1Xtra; the album's deep cuts ranged from the gothic nightmare of "Wicked Moon" to the heartfelt, pastoral love song "Gypsy Letters". But it was another track, released without fanfare later that year, that made the world sit up and take notice - after it punched them in the gut first. On "Cleaning Out My Closet", a rework of the Eminem single, Haze tackled in harrowing, visceral detail the sexual abuse she'd suffered as a child.

"I didn't realise the platform I had til I put that out," Haze says. "I thought that was just cathartic, just for me - a means of release. But the response was so major - so many people identified with it and told me I spoke their story. There's power in knowing you have a voice that can be used for those who don't. To know that if you feel a certain way and you say it, there's a chance that a million other people will feel the exact same way. You're never alone."

When Haze performed "Cleaning Out My Closet" live for the first and, she says, last time at London's Scala in May, it reduced the crowd first to silence - and then, as it reached the survivor's triumph of its conclusion, a surge of cheers and applause. It was a testament to the power of both the song and the intensity of Haze's live show - one that's since been honed at festivals from Reading to Roskilde over the summer, Haze conscientiously taking notes on other performers from Ke$ha to Kings Of Leon. On stage I want to be able to jump around, I want it to be a full-on rock show," she says. But the most revelatory aspect of going on the road has been encountering her loyal fans in real life for the first time: "It's kind of dumbfounding, because I rarely ever know how to feel about how people feel about me - but to see it manifest physically, where it's not a tweet or a Tumblr question, when you can see people in front of you and they're freaking the fuck out because you're there, it's amazing," Haze marvels. "I'll never get over it, ever."

All of this has fed into the making of Haze's debut album proper, Dirty Gold. "Writing it was like a Rubik's Cube," Haze muses. "Going around and twisting it 'til you get the colours perfect." The transition from underground mixtape up-and-comer to major label star has often been a tough one for rappers to navigate, but Haze has always had a clear idea of what she wanted Dirty Gold to be. "I wanted to push the boundaries a bit," she explains. "To make it as diverse as who I am and what I like. Sonically, I wanted it to sound bigger and more complete. To sound epic."

Epic is exactly the word for it. Produced in collaboration, for the most part, with producer Markus Dravs, Dirty Goldshares both the out-there sonic experimentation that marked Dravs' work with Björk and the widescreen, stadium-ready feel that characterised his work with The Arcade Fire and Coldplay - all topped with Haze's words of rage and deep feeling, as rapid-fire and passionate as they've ever been. Discordant bass drones and eerie electronics dominate the dark romance "Deep Sea Diver"; on the flip side, Haze explores the hopeless nature of that love on the piano-driven ballad "Planes Fly", inspired by one of her favourite songs ever - Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car". As she's hinted at recently, Haze went through "a bad break-up" while writing and recording the album - and her obsession with doomed love is a recurring theme throughout. "I think I don't have a chance in hell at true love and actual happiness!" she exclaims. "Happiness is fleeting, it's a reminder to you so that when you're going through bad shit, you remember the time you were happy and you can get there again. It's all about working towards this feeling that's so fucking fleeting - to attain what it is to be content." In songs such as "April's Fool" and "Deep Sea Diver", Haze seeks to capture these fleeting moments in musical form.

Often, Dirty Gold feels like a rap album crossed with a confessional singer-songwriter album - a description that pleases Haze immensely. "Markus always obsessed over making me remember I was a poet first, then a rapper," she explains. "Every track was approached from a writer's stance rather than a rapper's one." Illustrating this are two of the most powerful songs on the album - both character studies of sorts in their different ways. On "Black Dahlia", Haze tackles her dysfunctional relationship with her mother by addressing a younger version of her, drawing the lines between the damage both women have suffered and finally rewriting a happy ending for her. As ever, Haze's mind goes to darker places than most as she imagines erasing herself so that neither daughter nor mother would have to suffer the consequences of their relationship. Haze dismisses the idea that her mother will hear it - "She'll go out of her way to avoid it" - though admits she wants her to. "I don't see it ever working out, though."

Meanwhile, "White Lilies And White Lies" is a strip club anthem with a difference: with its heavy bass drops, it may sound like a fitting soundtrack for a pole dancer, but lyrically it examines Haze's conflicted, confused feelings for a stripper friend and her job: Haze's thoughtfulness and intelligence cut sharply through the drunken, hedonistic fug.

Two further collaborators are of particular significance to Haze. A Tribe Called Red, a Native American electro pow-wow collective who hail from Ottawa, are friends of long standing - and when they sent Haze a beat, she says, "It blew Markus and I away." With good reason: the track that shares its name with the collective is a cauldron of oscillating synthwork, chants, claps and hollers, Haze rising to the occasion by throwing in even more vocal switch-ups than usual. It's also a means for the self-taught Tsalagi speaker to nod to her own Native American heritage. "Race and eethnicity is not important to me - my music is wholly who I am" she asserts. "But it's good to slip it under the radar."

Meanwhile, Haze joins forces with the Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Sia for the inspirational "Battle Cry", on which she flips her own traumatic experiences into the ability to lead her fanbase through their own lives. What makes it even more special is that Sia's own "Breathe Me" holds a special place in Haze's heart. "When I was feeling suicidal, I'd go to sleep with that song on. And I'd either feel like my entire world was closing in on me or, in some strange, euphoric way, I was becoming stronger." It's a subject Haze addresses elsewhere on the album, on the powerful "Angels And Airwaves" - a reworking of one of Haze's old poems, "If You're Contemplating Suicide", in song form. "It's probably the song I would make for myself back then," she says. Now, she reaches out to others: "The mental state, the physical state, the aliveness of my fanbase means everything to me," she states. "I'll sit there all night long and talk to them. As much as I hate and do not wish ever to be referred to as a role model, my living - regardless of whether or not I get drunk or do stupid shit or fight with people - is an example for them. The important thing is to keep living, because at some point your story is going to impact someone else…"

Not that Haze can't lighten the mood when she wants. Lead single "Echelon" is a tremendously propulsive hip-hop summer jam that showcases her underrated sense of fun, returning to the rat-a-tat chat that she does with such panache. "I'm in that new-school G5 wagon, colour of a komodo dragon," she brags with her typical inventiveness.

Haze says that the final shape of Dirty Gold came together in her head only three weeks before she finished recording it. "I'd been trying to replicate some perfect album I had in my head," she admits. A confluence of conversations changed this. First, a suggestion from a friend that she write a song about her mother (resulting in "`§") that led to her scrolling through old, saved voicemails ("I have a disgusting habit of recording all my conversations with people - something gold can come out of everything"). And second, Haze's favourite poet, Andrea Gibson, telling her: "Music is a trapdoor: it locks you in." Dirty Gold is the product of this: scrolling through Angel Haze's multifaceted identity, memories and experiences to create a piece of art you can't look away from.

This biography was provided by the artist or their representative.

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