London Mars debuts herself as a feminist mastermind on “Malibu”

“Growing up I was introduced to music in a lot of different ways and realising music was it for me, but then I had this big diagnosis when I was 15 and had to kick that so I could keep doing what I loved,” Mars tells me as she colours in a mandala in her tiled LA home and talks me through her debut single. "Malibu” is an irresistible, pint-sized manifesto of being tired of relationships and happy on your own: “Honestly, I don’t know / what’s so great about being vulnerable / I’m getting tired of / justifying why I’m not in love,” she sings, ironically pairing her empowering jab at relationship expectations with glitzy electric guitar and heartbeat bass.

Mars was raised in Oklahoma on a diet of run-of-the-mill suburban Christianity. “I wasn’t allowed to listen to any music but Christian radio until middle school," she tells me. "Pop music wasn’t allowed. It was dangerous – so there was a rebellion thing where whenever my Mum left me in the car, I’d quickly change the radio station to pop music so I could listen to it.”

She began piano and voice lessons aged five, and learnt song writing from her father who went to college to study music before switching to medicine. Mars started her first band aged eight and entered the Actors, Models and Talent for Christ competition at thirteen and came runner up. She was scouted by Grammy-winning manager Jason Davis. “I flew to Miami with him and after a year I went on my first business trip to LA and wrote my first EP. That’s where it all started. Working with Jason, Dave Cramer from Kings of A&R. I’d seen it, I’d tasted it. And I wanted to get the fuck out.”

But, with social media and Spotify barely starting out, the EP didn’t get a lot of movement, especially with Mars stuck in Oklahoma. And then, at fifteen, she was diagnosed with grand mal epilepsy – an illness that pumped the breaks on her career while she grappled with its management: “Now it’s less defining,” she tells me. “Because of the hormones, my brain wasn’t fully there. You know, it’s hard to learn math when your brain isn’t really there. You’re on this medication and you’re having seizures once a month. Your brain is scrambled all the time.” Paired with her parents’ divorce, by the time Mars started at Berklee College of Music in 2016, she had a wealth of fiery lyrics at her fingertips, penning songs about the constructs she’s found herself in; a move that she pulls off with impressive coolness.

“Malibu” therefore, characterises an artist with a lot on her proverbial plate, and a lot on her mind. London Mars doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable, but she’s aware of its impact. She’s writing pop with the gold but not the glitter, and singing about not giving a fuck, while essentially, giving a fuck. She’s colouring on her kitchen table and being the next emo-pop superstar.

“My whole life, everyone has told me I’m warm, I’m cheery; I should never do anything too dark; I shouldn’t wear eyeliner," Mars says. "But I want to tell people not to be scared of making the darkness. It’s hard for me to compromise the thoughts I have in my head. My art is writing my feelings, my experiences, being authentic. If I don’t do that, what’s the point?”