South London's Lover Girl steps into her most honest era yet.

Banks, who’s toured with the likes of Megan Thee Stallion, Nicki Minaj and Cardi B, has spent the past decade carving out a career defined by lyrical precision, versatility and unapologetic energy. Now, she’s releasing her long-awaited debut album, SOUTH LDN LOVER GIRL, a record rooted in identity and community that sees the 31-year-old at her most mature and transparent yet.

“You never really see the words South London and lover girl put together, unfortunately us girls from South have a bad rep,” she says. “My environment may have a part to play as to why I am so hard and so stern but, deep down inside, there is a girl that wants to love and be loved.” The 15-track album explores this duality, with songs that celebrate both the “loud, strong-headed and assertive” and “kind and family-oriented” aspects of who she is. The lead single, “4C”, is an empowering anthem celebrating Black womanhood, self-love and authenticity, centred on reclaiming pride in natural 4C hair and rejecting societal pressure for cosmetic enhancement.

Banks, whose real name is Thyra Oji, wrote her first bars when she was 11 years old and would spend weekends battling with boys from her block. Of Nigerian and Ugandan heritage, she credits her parents’ immigrant outlook with shaping her confidence. “Because they came here and weren’t born here, they look at this country with more open eyes and understand there’s opportunity in the Western world,” she says. “So they really pushed me to go for mine.”

Banks spent her “crazy” childhood surrounded by music and was inspired by artists like Ms Dynamite, collaborator Giggs, as well as Lauryn Hill and Foxy Brown. Performing, she says, is her favourite part of being an artist, whether that’s on arena stages with the likes of Little Mix and Nile Rodgers, supporting the likes of Megan Thee Stallion, or at more intimate shows. “I love being in the studio, but being on stage and interacting with the fans in real time and just that adrenaline — it’s like a drug you can’t describe.”

For all the glamour of being a musician who’s made it, Banks is clear-eyed about the realities of building a creative life. The sacrifices, the instability and the pressure of validation have all been obstacles to overcome along the way. But it’s been more than worth it for what the work has given her in return. The freedom, the space to express herself fully, and the ability to help others feel seen are not things Banks takes for granted. “Sometimes you get used to it and it can become almost normal,” she says. “But I really am living my answered prayers and I have to thank God for that every day.”

You’ve said that SOUTH LDN LOVER GIRL is the most vulnerable you’ve ever been on a record. Is there a particular track you’re nervous for people to hear?

Yes and it’s not actually telling my story, it’s two of my friends’ stories, two people really close to me. One of them was devastating and had a major effect on my life, so it’s scary to put that out there, but it’s a lot of girls’ stories. It’s about things young women in the hood go through that people don’t really talk about, and while we’re super desensitized to it, it’s probably not normal. I’ve never put out a song where I’m just storytelling like that.

When you think back to growing up in South London, what experiences shaped you the most?

I would say it’s probably school. I was going to school by myself from quite an early age, and just being around different people from different cultures, different backgrounds. Playing out, the local food spots, the things you’d see, the things you’d hear, the people you’d meet — all of that shaped me. It also taught me how to be street-smart, which you can apply to different parts of your life. Even in work and in the music industry, being street-wise has made me more savvy when it comes to business and how to move.

What role did music play in your childhood?

I definitely come from a music-oriented family. My mum and her sisters can sing, her brother plays guitar, my granddad was in a band in Uganda back in the day and my dad was a crazy hip-hop head. I remember him having like a thousand CDs, all numbered in red felt tip, with artists like 2Pac and KRS-One. There were always different genres playing in the house.

How did your family influence your sense of ambition and belief in yourself?

I think I’ve always been confident. My parents have always watered me. Coming from an African
background, it’s not often you hear that someone’s child wants to be a creative and the parents are supportive. It’s usually like, “Get a real job.” But my mum and dad have been very supportive, I think because they both love music.

Looking back, what sacrifices did you make on your way here that aren’t often spoken about?

You sacrifice a lot of normality as a creative. You’re your own boss, and you don’t have a regular job with a stable income. On my come-up I stopped working for a while and took that leap of faith of just pretty much having no income to go for my goals… I was also very protective of my energy, my space, and the people I had around me. When you want to pursue something like music, it’s not the common road, so you get a lot of naysayers and people acting like it’s not possible. I get that because of the statistics, but I’m very delulu about my dreams, so I stayed positive and didn’t let anyone get in my head.

Have you always had the same level of drive?

I don’t think my drive has stayed the same throughout my whole career, especially now. I’m still driven, but I’m growing. I’m 31, which is crazy — Banks at 21 was not the same. I used to be able to get lit two or three days in a row and still be fine. Now it’s like, “Girl, calm down.” I still have hunger, but it’s not the same as when I was younger. Your priorities change and my worth isn’t tied to how much work I produce anymore. I love what I do, but it’s not the be-all and end-all, and it doesn’t define who I am.

There still aren’t many women in rap. What’s that experience been like for you?

Being a rapper and being a woman in music is definitely ten times harder. When you look at the stats, you’re like, why are there so few of us? They try to make it feel like other women are the problem, but they’re not, it’s a male-dominated field. When I started rapping, I was constantly told things like, “Get back in the kitchen,” or that I shouldn’t be doing this at all. People want to dictate how you present yourself, what you should say. It’s not easy, which is why it matters when we see more women coming into the game and having success. A high tide lifts all boats.

How do you balance vulnerability and strength in both your work and personal life?

I don’t know if I consciously balance it, I think it comes down to honesty. I’m quite private because that protects me. It’s not about being mysterious; it’s just that when you give too much, it can feel like an energy leak. At the same time, there are parts of me I do share, because I think it’s important to connect with people and make them feel seen. So I’m always asking myself, “Is this worth saying?” I grew up in a family where it was like, “Don’t tell our business,” but I don’t see it that way. It can be scary, but there is strength in vulnerability.

Has success changed your sense of self, or just revealed it more clearly?

When I first came out, I chased a lot of things for validation, but now I realise those things don’t matter as much. I’m back in a space where I’m just trying to express myself and accept that sometimes you’re up, sometimes you’re down — you might have a good run, then things go quiet — but no matter what, you stay the same. I saw a quote recently that said being an artist isn’t about how much good music you make, it’s about how much your nervous system can handle, and I really believe that. You can be on cloud nine one moment and then in a quieter or more uncertain phase the next. You still have to keep your sense of self and know your worth without the labels, titles or sold-out tours. Those things are great, but they’re add-ons.