There’s a moment in Hawa’s first music video, released in October 2018, when she pushes back the long sleeve of a baggy red tee to reveal her boney, brown wrist. “See these rocks on my wrist, yeah they real son,” she sing-raps in an accent that’s a melange of the Guinean, French, German, and American voices she’s heard growing up around the world. The thing about her wrist, though, is that it’s bare. She boasts about keeping $50 million in the safe and “a chopper tucked” in her waistband, but there’s no sign of wealth or a weapon. There’s just a rascally teenager having a good time.
Now 19 years old and based in New York City, Hawa is releasing her debut EP, the One, with b4, an imprint of the venerable indie label 4AD. She’s still flexing, but across the eight-song collection, her boasts feel less real than her preoccupation with romance and lust. Her bars, swaggy but often unsurprising, aren’t what’s most impressive. Instead, it’s her commitment to escaping the trappings of popular rap and R&B with intricate melodies and lush soundscapes, helmed by producer Tony Seltzer and a small, eclectic group of beatmakers.
In the fifth grade, Hawa intercepted a letter to her parents she feared was filled with bad news about her behavior. Instead, it was an invitation to join a New York Philharmonic composition program for children. She enrolled, and she excelled. By 15, ensembles in China and Venezuela were performing her pieces. Perhaps this is why Hawa’s low yet airy voice sounds made to be manipulated—to be pitched up, brought down, layered and harmonized. The One proves she’s a composer first and a songwriter second; lyrics about love and bad bitches eventually begin to feel repetitive.
But Hawa’s melodies are so strong and so smooth that it’s easy for boring lines like, “I’m making her wet, wet like a sink” to go uninterrogated. The One sounds thoughtful and unified, a series of tiny worlds within the same universe of delicate keys, billowing synths, and subtle 808s. Producer Cadenza leans into his bashment and dancehall expertise on the sultry “My Love,” building record scratches, twinkles, and chimes into a tropical playground. Producer Carlos Truly, who plays guitar and synthesizer in the indie band Ava Luna, uses both with groove and restraint on the EP’s dreamy “Outro.”
Hawa has predecessors in style and subject matter: When she makes threats, her droney sing-rapping calls to mind Dej Loaf. Her simple rhymes about loving women echo Kodie Shane’s Young HeartThrob. When she murmurs lines like, “She in love, but I just pretend,” her caddish tendencies resemble those of Brent Faiyaz. Yet, the One feels new because Hawa approaches these moments from different angles. It’s both tender and bold, both atmospheric and focused. Hawa’s classical training gives her a unique perspective on these contrasting elements, and her natural musical acuity allows her to navigate them with uncommon grace.
