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When it comes to the inspiration behind her debut album Shea Butter Baby, Ari Lennox doesn’t coat her answer with elaborate vernacular. As we’re thrift shopping in Brooklyn’s popular L Train Vintage, the singer-songwriter is honest and thoughtful as she flips through abandoned designer gowns and heavy leather jackets. Without taking a beat between finding a perfect graphic tee to match her black jeans from Topshop, she confesses, “The common denominator is ni**as, but it’s just mad sh*t about my life.”

As Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell’s 1967 classic "Ain’t No Mountain High Enough" plays over the store’s speakers, Ari smiles with delight at the idea of love in all forms. There’s not enough room for bitterness as the singer embarks on a journey of self-realization with Shea Butter Baby. The soulful LP is playful in nature but intentional, as Ari courts possible love interests on tracks like “Chicago Boy,” “Broke” with J.I.D. and “Speak To Me.” There are also moments of ultimate self-care like the DIY tune “New Apartment,” where growth is discovered in the most simple scenarios (“No longer afraid of the dark/Cus that light bill changed my heart/made a ni**a act smart”).

But the most stripped moments of the album are interludes, which happen to be moments from her Instagram Live sessions. The use of a higher pitch is akin to Cole’s alter ego “Lil Cole” used on his tracks like “Forbidden Fruit” and “Brackets,” adding wonders to Ari’s take on the design. Professions of loneliness, emotionally abusive relationships and good ol’ freak sh*t remind the listener how genuine and raw Ari (born Courtney Salter) is.

“People will appreciate who you are when you're naturally being who you are,” she says. Since the days of the Washington, D.C. native belting covers on YouTube, Ari has mastered the art of being yourself. Releasing her first mixtape Five Finger Discount in 2012, the singer toyed with styles inspired by André 3000 and Janelle Monae, keeping her kinetic vocals all her own. This was later felt on the Ariography breakout, “La La La.” Just a few moon cycles later, fate would place her on Omen’s “Sweat It Out” and on the radar of J. Cole, who made her the first woman and sanger signed to Dreamville Records.

“I was surprised people actually loved it as much as they do ‘cause I was just playing around,” she says of her studio debut EP PHO. Released in 2016, the seven-track project polished Ari’s sound, keeping her homegirl aura intact. The process wasn’t without struggle. “I recorded it on a cheap mic and on a cheap laptop,” she recalls of her early DIY days. “My homeboy Mez mixed it to angelic heights but I recorded it on trash mics and I was drunk [on] half of the recordings. (Laughs) I'm always going to take an experience and a fire beat and marry it all together with adult melodies. I try to paint, just like Frank Ocean paints with his lyrics. I try in similar ways to paint my life into these songs.”

The arrival of the buzzy single “Whipped Cream” felt like the victory for Ari, given the wide gap in her discography. Between 2016 and 2018, the singer toured with Cole for his 4 Your Eyez Only Tour and hit the festival circuit for performances at Trillectro and Soulquarius. While work was steady, her heart wasn’t, causing a few roadblocks in her life path.

“I don’t see how I can ever be happy doing music again. I don’t want to write and I don’t want to listen to any beats,” she tweeted in August 2018. ”I don’t want to perform. I think I’m literally done. Never thought I could feel that way but I do.” The doubt seems to be universal for women in today’s R&B terra. Just before the release of her Grammy-nominated album CTRL, SZA similarly issued a stream of consciousness on social media about stepping away from music. Black women in soul music have always faced several barriers while getting to the surface (ie: Phyllis Hyman and Vesta Williams), but in the mad dash for streaming milestones, quick singles and racially ambiguous acts are pushed to the forefront, leaving black women singing the blues in the background.

For Ari, her doubt rests on the hands of time. “Things didn't happen as fast as I thought,” she admits. “I've been trying to be a singer ever since I was 2 years old and I'm a whole 27 years old now so it's like, things can happen or they can't. It's a humbling experience every year, every day. 'Will the people see it? Will they get it?' That's where the doubt is. Sometimes they do and sometimes they don't.”

The sonic shift happened for Ari sooner than expected. After the success of “Whipped Cream,” “Shea Butter Baby” featuring Cole arrived shortly after on the Creed II soundtrack, bringing her to center stage. Her sultry twang and the commands of banging near trash cans is an unfiltered mood we all aspire to reach, while her bossman’s guest verse is another win for his latest bout of features. Working with the Dreamville creator comes easily for Ari (he also produced the fluid “Facetime” during their first session together in 2016), but sometimes, the creative challenge simmers.

“It's really cool [working with Cole] but it depends,” she admits. “It can be 'Here's a beat, do whatever you want with it.' So I just go ham and be free, or he might just be like, 'I got this and wrote this down. Do you think you can just sing over it and do some adlibs?' That's the easiest. I love that like, 'You know what you want and I can just do what I gotta do.'”

In the Dreamville crew, the artists are more of a family unit than a record label. This was seen during their inaugural festival in Cole’s home state back in April and most recently at Ari’s weekday listening for Shea Butter Baby in New York (May 6). Dreamville president Ibrahim "IB" Hamad and EarthGang arrived early to cheer on their soul sister along with Ari’s manager Justin LaMotte and creative director Paris Cole. Labelmates like Omen (who co-produced “BMO”) and J.I.D. have done the same from the digital sidelines. Ari says the Dreamville family is also quick to send love and attention to one another. “He’ll ask, ‘Are you alright? How are you doing?’” she says. “It's vice versa. I'll ask him. He'll ask me. It's the same way with everyone in the crew. That's all we can do and talk to each other when we can. It's just love. It's good vibes. Really good vibes. The energy is that real.”

Because of Dreamville’s familiar and comforting nature, Ari is free to take creative leaps and bounds. “I just wanted to make it clear that I’m here with a message,” she said of making the album title Shea Butter Baby. “I just want people to get hip. This is what black women and natural women, in general, have to go through, your pillows will get f**ked up, somebody will get mad, you know? This is what we do to make sure our hair is healthy and moisturized.” In addition to her layered lyric style on the album, Ari listed each song on her album with different hair types. The album cover is also a homage to Diana Ross’ 1970 release, Everything Is Everything.

“I want to eventually graduate to Diana Ross vibes, but right now I'm just a casual bi**h,” she says about her “ratchet glamorous sweetie-patootie” style. "My favorite style inspirations are between Rihanna and Diana Ross. Diana is so glamorous with the sh*t and both of them are glamorous and took a lot of risks. I didn't realize that Diana was getting naked, real sheer and naked in some of her fits. I want to be that chick one day but for now, I like nice graphic tees and my Topshop black jeans. I also like a nice sexy satin dress with an open toe heel. So it's between those two fits really, those styles."

During our thrift store run, Ari finds pieces that match her aesthetic. It’s been more than an hour and her cart is filled with vintage threads. One number is a silky purple dress with gemstones that would make and any Golden Girl blush. There’s also an edgy denim dress that she can bust a stiff twerk to. Her fashion sense has matured over time as she name drops lines like House of CB and Laura Dewitt. Like her fashion ambitions, there’s so much more Ari wants to conquer. While naming some of her favorite soul sisters in the game like Teyana Taylor, Ella Mai and Queen Najia, Ari believes the tides are changing for women in R&B.

“I think it's in good hands. I think there are some things I can contribute to [R&B] as well,” she says. “Queen Najia, she's fire as hell. There's beyond hope with people like Queen Najia. I love that she's just herself. I'm trying to get a baby and a man very soon. That's goals. She's just living her life and there's no f**king rules, she's killing it and killing half these artists out here. She's blessed.”

In the meantime, Ari hopes her discography provides comfort for fans while bringing the feels of Teedra Moses and Alicia Keys. “I feel lucky that I finally have something that's making people say, 'Wow,'” she says. “I just get to be happy doing what I want to do. As long as I'm happy making the songs I'm making, it will be fine. That's all I need to be rich. I just need my nice $200,000 home in the middle of nowhere in Atlanta and my two Akita dogs and I'll be fine. Whatever I got to do to get that, I'll be good.”

When thinking of soul music, it’s easy to resort to the legends of the genre first, like Marvin Gaye and Four Tops, just to name a couple. However, one should also think of a towering, yet soft-spoken artist by the name of TOBi. During a New York visit, the 6’3” Toronto resident explains how he isn't like the traditional soul music that many people are familiar with, citing the aforementioned artists. In fact, TOBi, dressed street style fly with a Kappa sweatsuit and black fedora, creates what he calls "unapologetic soul music." The 26-year-old speaks thoroughly and candidly when explaining exactly what that means. It all comes down to undeniably being himself, he says, and doing as much as he can and as much as he wants with his music.

"[It] is not restricted to a genre," he says of his self-described art form. "Unapologetic soul music, to me, is music that explores your deepest feelings, your fears, your joys, the things that make you tick."

This definition of his craft has been a main component of TOBi's musicality since he discovered music was his passion around the cusp of double digits. Even at that young age, 10-year-old TOBi associated the creation of music with how it made him feel, which was nothing but "good inside." TOBi was figuring out all that he could do with music, whether it was writing it or singing and rapping to it, all three skills that he employs today, and each discovery was fundamental in helping him get through a difficult period in his life: immigrating from Nigeria to Toronto. Music not only brought him joy at that time but also served as coping mechanism, because the move wasn't all sunshine and daisies for him.

When he and his family moved to Toronto, the six of them stayed in a two-bedroom home, with the children in one room and his parents in the other. They lived in a low-income neighborhood at the time and although the move wasn't entirely pleasant, there's a reason why TOBi discovering his love for music occurred around the same time his move to North America did.

"I think it coincides during that time because I utilized creating poetry and rap music as a coping mechanism for change," he explains. "For me to be able to have an outlet and not to go talk to people all the time about how this was going—because my natural predisposition was introversion. So, as an introvert, having that outlet to still be able to express how I was feeling inside was almost like stumbling upon the greatest thing ever."

Here, the buzzing talent shares exactly who he is as an artist and what his recently released Still album reveals about TOBi, the human being.

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VIBE: You sing and you rap. Would you describe yourself as an artist that's a rapper singer like Drake, or do you veer towards one more than the other? TOBi: Yeah, it's interesting when people describe me online in different groups. Some will say rapper, some will say singer. I would consider myself an artist that utilizes both to create a song that means something. Whatever method I'm using at the time, it's just what it is. Sometimes I rap more, sometimes I'll sing more.

How did you get started in the music industry? How was your journey to where you are today? I would say it's been an ongoing process. I started really recording music when I was a teenager in high school and putting stuff online. You know, MySpace, all those different platforms. But for real I would say my first real project that I put out was in 2016, it was called FYI. That's an EP that I created with a producer from Toronto, Nate Smith. I would say that's my first real foray into the music industry as TOBi.

As TOBi.... So, before TOBi the artist, who were you? What were you doing? I had hella names, hella pseudonyms that I was going by. I think it was just music that I thought sounded cool rather than music that felt really personal and genuine to who I am.

Did you have other career paths, or other passions that maybe clashed with music? I mean even though I wanted to be an artist, my family was not down for that. A big part of that move to Canada was like, "okay, we're about to move here because you're about to go this school and this school, get this education and become a doctor or a lawyer." It's the typical story you ask anybody from where they come from. Any first generation or newcomer family that's usually the path, right? So, there's a lot of friction externally with my family on that. But also internally, there was a lot of turmoil choosing which path to go on.

Seeing this in my city in support of my new album means everything. STILL is out now! Much love to @spotifycanada @spotify

A post shared by TOBi (@sincerelytobi) on May 4, 2019 at 7:44am PDT

Is there still that friction with your family or have they come to accept the fact that this is what you want to do and that you can actually be successful at it? Yeah, they've come to accept it through many conflicts, for sure. We've had a number of conflicts about it. But you know, at the end of the day, they see that it's something that I've been doing for so long. It's something that I'm really passionate about and it's working. They just needed to see that. Also, they weren't gonna let me slide and not finish my undergrad. For me, completing that as well, that was to them like, "OK, he's old enough, he'll figure it out."

What did you study in undergrad? Biology.

Once you graduated undergrad, was it like, "OK, this is like a Plan B for him, now he can go after what he wants?" For them, absolutely. For them, it was that, "you got this." Now it's the trust factor. Can we trust this guy is able to make these kinds of decisions?

Would you say that being Nigerian influences your music? [It] definitely does because my earliest, formidable memories are from me growing up in Nigeria. Living there for eight years, I remember so many stories. I remember the food, I remember the language, the culture.... I remember all these nuances that are still residual memories but they come up every so often into the forefront. I think on this album I tapped back into that consciously.

Are there specific Nigerian artists that influence you or even Canadian artists that influence you? Yeah, so I'll start with the Nigerian side. Some artists that influence me are Fela Kuti, Majek Fashek, King Sunny Adé, those are more of the older artists that influence me. And then modern, probably Burna Boy, this dude named Brymo, he's from Nigeria, he's amazing. There's some influence of him actually in this project as well. Overall though, as far as contemporary hip-hop music, I would say Kendrick Lamar, J. Cole, Frank Ocean. I just like artists that truly delve into the different aspects of their emotionality.

Who do you see yourself collaborating with? Would you see those artists as well? That's a good question. Definitely, Kendrick, definitely Frank Ocean for sure. Producers, Pharrell. I think Pharrell brings something special out of the artist that he collaborates with. He gets them to step out of their comfort zone. He can work with the Clipse, and then he can also work with some pop sounds and do Despicable Me soundtracks. So that's definitely someone I would love to collaborate with. I think we can do something amazing.

As an artist, what would you say are three goals that you would want to accomplish within the next five years? I definitely want to go on tour in different continents. I want to go across the world and connect with as many humans as possible, that's one. Two, I want to be a songwriter for other artists as well. I want to be able to tap into other experiences and be able to create music that doesn't just reflect my life, but speaks to others as well. And lastly, I want to be involved in what I see as a movement. A movement of self-discovery, an awakening of self-awareness as well. I feel like in 2019, and going forward, we as global citizens are becoming more and more aware of the world around us and the world within us as well. That's personally from a psychological perspective and a mental health and well-being perspective. I want to be more aware of not just the literature but also what movements are occurring and how I can be involved in it as an artist to create a platform to put that out there.

Still tryna paint Picasso's 📷 @jamilnotjamal

A post shared by TOBi (@sincerelytobi) on Jan 25, 2019 at 4:53pm PST

Is there any movement now that you're passionate about, that you see yourself getting involved in? Absolutely. One movement that I'm really passionate about is this kind of awakening of self-healing. I don't know if you see this but even on social media, on Twitter or Instagram, there's a lot of people who promote healthy consumption of food, drinks, music, media, books. So like a healthy consumption of taking things into your body, right. Because that essentially becomes who you are. That's something I've been very passionate about on a personal level. I'm still working on that, because I don't want to come out and be an ambassador for something I'm not applying to myself. That's my major thing right now and I love it. That's why I love a lot of these new artists coming out. I love Solange, I think she's a huge proponent for that. Not just through her music but through what she says, through what she does, and her actions. I like to align myself with those kinds of groups.

Now let's get into your album. Why the name Still? I remember the name was so many different things before Still. Still was the perfect word to encompass what was going on in there. There's different layers to it. First one that I'll speak on is the persistence and the dedication. When I was creating this project, I've been making it for two years but the stories on there are from when I was eight years old. It almost feels like I've been writing this project for 15 years, that's what it feels like to me. Just that ongoing process of change and growth as an individual and persistence, it's still. It's ongoing, it keeps on going even after the project. It keeps on going, it doesn't stop. And then secondly, one thing that's always been very important to me is presence and being grounded in the present moment. To be still is to be centered and almost fixated in the current experience. So that word is perfect.

For Still, can you speak on specific experiences in your life that you pulled inspiration from? There's a number of experiences. Some of the songs were a bit difficult to write because of the experiences. But, I remember clearly, vividly when I first moved to Canada and having my family come with me afterwards and where we lived. We lived in this apartment in a kind of low-income area. It was a two-bedroom apartment and there was six of us in there and all the kids were in one room and I just remember it was small. It was very small but it was fine. I was just happy that we were all together. And I drew on that a bit on some of the songs on there and what those times were like, right and seeing the growth of not just me but my family as well. Like my mom for sure.

That's another experience that I drew from. Her coming into the country, working manual labor overnight and then she transitioned into the role that she's currently in where she runs the whole company and watching her grow from that, that was motivating for me as well. Still, you know, the story's for her, too. And then there's pieces in the album that speak about my more rebellious teenager years, getting up to no good.

What can fans and new listeners expect from Still? They should expect to be moved. Not just physically, because some of the beats are slapping, but also on an emotional level. It's a bit of a trip listening to it from top to bottom. I've listened to it on some late nights before going to bed, and every time I listen to it, I'm even tapping into something new that I subconsciously put into the project that I wasn't consciously aware of that I did. So I would like listeners to be able to experience certain emotions and feel free with it. Not to try to repress anything, just let it go, just let it come free. You gotta let it go sometimes. And expect that flame, expect that sonic flame, now and forever.

What can fans and new listeners expect from Still? They should expect to be moved. Not just physically, because some of the beats are slapping, but also on an emotional level. It's a bit of a trip listening to it from top to bottom. I've listened to it on some late nights before going to bed, and every time I listen to it, I'm even tapping into something new that I subconsciously put into the project that I wasn't consciously aware of that I did. So I would like listeners to be able to experience certain emotions and feel free with it. Not to try to repress anything, just let it go, just let it come free. You gotta let it go sometimes. And expect that flame, expect that sonic flame, now and forever.

“Sweet Poison” video is now live via @okayplayer. Much love to them and @ivie.ani for the write up. Amped for y’all to see this one! Link in bio ❤️🥀

A post shared by TOBi (@sincerelytobi) on Feb 27, 2019 at 3:03pm PST

The last time I saw my friend and brother John Singleton was last year, the year 2018, what month exactly I cannot recall. But the meet-up was for me to spend several hours with him to interview John for the book I am still writing on the life and times of Tupac Shakur. John asked me to visit his production office in Los Angeles, where I got to sit in with his team of writers, including famed novelist Walter Mosley (one of John’s mentors and heroes). John was very proud of his FX network television show Snowfall, and how it was like a prequel to his most famous movie, his first, Boyz N The Hood. During my interview with John, he mentioned several times he rarely did interviews, but that he trusted me. Little did I know it would be the final time I would ever see him in person.

I first met John Singleton in 1992, when we were both 20-something upstarts, him as the creator of a critically-acclaimed and Oscar-nominated film (when John was only 23, 24), and me a staff writer for Quincy Jones’ VIBE magazine. I do not think John even remembered our first encounter in New York City, where he simply asked myself and some other heads if we dug Boyz N The Hood, being East Coast folks. Dug it? Heck, it was and is a classic of American and world cinema. What also connected John Singleton and I through all these years was our relationships with Tupac Shakur. In one of my early VIBE cover stories on ‘Pac, John said he wanted Tupac to be Robert DeNiro to his Martin Scorsese. Sadly they only did one film together, Poetic Justice. I’ve long imagined what they could have manifested, two racially proud black sons of two strong black mothers.

In an interview last year for my Tupac book, John cried on several occasions: about the lost potential of Tupac’s life and art, of the many lost black male lives. I also noticed that John sweated quite a bit. Little did I know he was suffering from the high blood pressure that would lead to the stroke that just took his life. John gave me a lot of information he has never shared with anyone and asked me to do the right thing, over and over, with this Tupac book, especially given his great disappointment that he did not get to direct the biopic on ‘Pac.

Like me, John was a fighter, to the very end, and what they called back in the day, a race man: his life and work were for black people, largely, to correct all the racist wrongs we have seen across American pop culture from the beginning to now. John was not afraid to speak his mind, to challenge, even if it cost him many career opportunities, which I feel it did. He understood he had to speak for all of us, not just himself; that he had to sacrifice himself, his art, for the greater good of real diversity and real inclusion; that Hollywood, or America, would never change without being pushed, nonstop. John was our cinematic resister, our cinematic revolutionary. He was a USC-trained filmmaker with the independent spirit of a Melvin Van Peebles and our beloved hip-hop culture. John was high art and he was also games of spades at a fish fry in the ghetto on a Friday night.

And John was not afraid of looking himself in the mirror. In that same interview I did with him for the Tupac book, he and I spoke at length about the pitfalls of fame, especially when it comes mad young, mad early. John spoke to me about how he carried guns then, how he became something he was not, and how it could have ended his life before 30, the recklessness of it all. But because we had outlived famous and not-famous black males around us, both John and I also shared this thing called survivor’s guilt. Like why me God, why am I still here? This is the question virtually every black male in America will ask himself as he sees those around him, including those more gifted, smarter, fall, one by one. John was determined not to fall. That is what I felt in my bones when I left his office that day from what turned out to be one of the best interviews I’ve gotten for the Tupac book. John and I always stayed in touch, usually by text, but John also liked to pick up the phone and just kick it voice to voice. He was accessible in a way many in the entertainment industry are not. John did not, to me, believe his own hype. He was always about the next TV show, the next film, the next thing he had to do, and he always thought of helping others.

When I first heard John Singleton had had a stroke, all the conflicting information made me think he would pull through. But today, ironically, as I flew from my city of New York to John’s city of Los Angeles, I learned it was over, that he was being taken off life support. I cried on that plane ride, I cry in my heart as I write this now. Another black man gone too soon, from something that was preventable. But given the many challenges we face in America, the ugliness of racism, the constant need to prove ourselves, over and over, it is little wonder that so many of us are sick, are walking wounded, are working ourselves, quite literally at times, to death. I am sad because I never got on that boat of John’s for a ride he was always offering. Sailing was one of the great joys of John’s life, and I spoke with him many a day when he was on his boat. I am extremely sad because just this past Saturday, I directed and produced and wrote my very first short film, about black men and black boys, and I thought about John Singleton the entire time, how I wanted to create something with him. And how I was going to ask him to support my short film entitled “Brotha Man.”

Indeed, we had kicked around some ideas the past year or so, he had quietly supported financially my wife Jinah Parker’s theater production, SHE, a Choreoplay, and John stood by me when I filed a lawsuit against the producers of the Tupac biopic, even as I was being ridiculed by some due to false media information. John, in a word, was a friend, to me, to many, a supporter, to me, to many; and because he is of my generation, of my race, of my gender identity, he also spoke for me and to me, through his films. So a part of me has died, too, with him, and you wonder every single time you see one of your peers gone how much time you have yourself before God, the ancestors, the universe, some spirit force calls on you next. I have no idea, I am not afraid, I am stunned, yes, but I have done everything I can to prepare myself for how long or how short the rest of my life will be. And it is my humble hope that like John Singleton, when I am gone, I will have left something behind for all time. Because he did, he truly did.