“It’s got to have an incredibly catchy chorus. It’s got to say something in a way in which nobody else has said it before. And it’s got to move music forward. What a lot of artists have done in the past so well with anthems is that it has not only changed their career, but it has changed music and the way people view music too. It’s got to have that thing where it’s like, ‘oh shit, I’ve never heard that before.’ Anthems aren’t just pop songs – they start off with something else and then they become a pop song. That’s what I find interesting.”

Lola Young and I are discussing what makes an anthem, an anthem. It’s a sweltering hot day in the midst of July, around noon, and the two of us are sitting in Southwark Park cafe, attempting a conversation in a crowded room filled with screaming children (damn summer holidays) and the air of anticipation. Young, who regrets her “prangy” latte almost immediately post consumption, is at the precipice of achieving a notoriously tricky feat for British artists—breaking America.

Soon, 25th September to be exact, Young will be embarking on her second North American tour of the year. A coterie of dates across the Atlantic will be ensued by a pre-Christmas stint in the UK that includes a hometown show at the O2 Forum Kentish Town, and a smattering of European dates in 2025. “I don’t know. Ask management,” she jokes when I enquire as to why she’s off to the US once again so soon after her 16 sold-out Spring shows. But really, it’s about striking while the iron’s hot — and this rod is steaming. “The British thing, I think,” she feels about the swiftly rising Stateside affinity to her broad and bohemian, genre-fluid sound. “They love the accent. I didn’t actually sing with a British accent for a long time, but I’ve been doing it a little bit more recently. “Don’t Hate Me” was the kick-off point to that, where people were like, ‘oh, she’s got a British accent’. I think they liked it.”

Although only 23 years old, Lola Young is a familiar presence in the UK mainstream’s contemporary lineage. Born-and-raised in South East London with “music embedded in everything [she does],” Young, following in the footsteps of many of the UK’s top talents, frequented the revered BRIT School for a sharpened musical education. She’d signed her first deal by the age of 18, and released her first body of work, “Intro” in 2019. Then, building up steam with a string of releases, she was nominated for the revered Rising Star Award at the Brits in 2021, and was chosen as the voice of the infamous John Lewis advert the same year. She has built up an intimate discography that stands the test of time, despite Young admitting she has debated deleting some of her older releases. “It’s up and down,” she reflects on her catalogue. “I think it’s all part of the journey, so I just look back and I go — ‘yeah, that was that.’”

Now, after years of “grinding,” Young’s streaming figures are increasingly healthy. She’s selling out shows and getting booked for festivals, self-defined “cool ones,” at that, including Lollapalooza and All Points East. So, has something shifted? “Yeah,” she says, almost timidly. “I think it has.” This aggrandisation of acclaim is in no small part down to the aforementioned “Don’t Hate Me”, a breakthrough single for Young and a totemic streamer on Spotify. The cut came as a centric piece of 2023’s My Mind Wanders and Sometimes Leaves Completely. A dense, emotionally cluttered, and vivaciously endearing body of work, the project proved a valiant if imperfect inaugural effort at a full-length. It’s quite normal for artists to share a body of work and then disappear into a creative abyss for the next 12 or more months, but Young had other ideas. She returned only three months later with the cataclysmic cut “Conceited,” an incepting leap towards the elevated critical adoration she’s now amidst; in large, thanks to her excellent new LP.

“I’ve worked so hard to make it,” Young reflects on This Wasn’t Meant For You Anyway, her June-released album that has traversed her from hotly-tipped riser to indelible trailblazer within a shapeshifting zeitgeist. “In some ways I’m kind of like, ‘imposter syndrome’, but then in another way I’m really proud of the album. Like it’s such a good album and it’s saying something, you know what I mean?” A far cry from the soul-tinged R&B balladry of her earlier work — that, although dazzling in its own right, didn’t quite fulfil the breadth of her ambition—Young’s new album is a pop pick n mix, a chameleonic cacophony of British sub-sounds from across the past 30 years. “One thing that I’m really realising is that I don’t want to be one sound, you know?“ she says on her LP’s variation. “So, yeah the album is an amalgamation of different things. It’s an ode to the music I grew up on.”

Made primarily in LA, with friend and collaborator Solomonophic (Remi Wolf, BROCKHAMPTON) “working his magic,” the album features the most audacious and potent production of Young’s discography. There’s tender and piercing folk on “You Noticed”, punk-tinged alt rock ferocity on “Wish You Were Dead” and dazzling despair on the 90s indebted “Crush”. “Fuck” is gloriously genre-progressive in its own right, let alone within the context of the album, with its hip hop percussion, serene splashes of electric guitar and theatrical, unnerving climax.

Although mature and cohesive, the album is far from chiselled; it’s unpredictable, visceral and deeply compelling — much like its maker, and marks a shift in focus in Young’s songwriting. “When I listen to Phoebe Bridgers, I love her weirdness and honesty. That’s something that I really like about other people’s music—the directness of it. In my old music I was being slightly more metaphorical. Now I’m like: this is just what I’m saying and I can have a cool melody to match it. I didn’t go like, ‘oh I want to start saying something’, It was just a transition in my style, working with [new producers] and finding a new sound, a new way, a new me, and having this realisation of being able to write in different ways.”

There’s a gorgeous dichotomy to Young’s music that’s in turn reflected in her disposition — brash and outspoken yet uncertain and searching, the synergy between her music and her persona is refreshing, and grounded in authenticity. “I like to think I’m [confident] as a person,” she muses. “But also I’m very much content with just being that in my music. I think I’m confident, I can hold a room if I want to, but I’m also vulnerable and insecure as well. That’s something that I’m slowly but surely coming to realise. My music is separate from me, but it’s still me, and that’s a very complex thing.”

Whether through her quickly evolving sonic identity, rip-roaring and visceral lyrical bravado, or her increasing assurance on stage, Lola Young has the feel of a generational artist. Her work-rate is ceaseless; she has already returned with a post album single, “Flicker of Light”, another rousing showcase of her innovation. As we leave the mayhem of the understaffed cafe behind, Young looks ahead to the forthcoming US tour, which she promises will be “bigger and better” than its predecessor. I query her, now she’s well versed in matters: how is a US crowd, compared to a UK one? “It’s different,” she answers. “The UK is more like, ‘we’re gonna bounce, we’re gonna drink bare fucking beer.’ And then America is more like, [puts on a shrill American accent] ‘I love you’. But it’s not off-putting. I like it.” That’s a star quality, if I ever did hear one.

Listen to This Wasn’t Meant For You Anyway…