The
London soul sensation, about to release her first album in five years, talks about identity, her friendship with Prince and her political awakening
Lianne La Havas arrives on her bike, a sturdy looking affair with a wicker front basket. It’s a June morning in Brockwell Park, south London, and the sun is out and the flowers are bright and the world is delicious. There are six of us here, all women; this is the first time, post-corona crisis, that any of us have been involved in an interview and photo shoot where everyone is outside their own house. A new beginning… And also an end, for in just a few days, the beaches will be packed, the park as full as a festival, parties will get rowdy and be broken up by
police, and lockdown will be done. For now, though, we’re in a dreamy, singular moment.
Up the hill to do the photos in a walled garden. La Havas parks her bike and sits on a bench to apply her makeup. She spends some time on her eyebrows, holds earrings up to see if they suit. A designer friend sent her some clothes to wear, but they were all a bit too hot and stiff, so she’s in a cotton dress that ties at the waist and airs her midriff. She’s calm but friendly. Centred. If you told me she was a yoga teacher, I wouldn’t be surprised.