Billboard UK

Rizzle Kicks has learned not to question a bolt from the blue. While working on the lyrics for its mighty new LP, Competition is for Losers, the duo – comprised of rappers Jordan Stephens and Harley Alexander-Sule – was struck by moments of synergy. The two members had entered the studio with the intention to make “an album talking about exactly where we’re at in our lives,” says Alexander-Sule, 14 tracks of fluorescent-hued pop-rap that celebrate a journey to embracing stillness over momentum, peace over chaos.

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The pair’s freewheeling spirit shines on the record because of how easily its bars dip and traverse through different moods. Tracks like “Everything’s Aligned” and “Javelin” hone in on the realization that something truly powerful can still exist and thrive after years of fear have been pushed aside: for Stephens and Alexander-Sule, it’s a friendship that has withstood everything it has been through. 

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Rizzle Kicks formed in Brighton as teenagers in 2008, having attended music workshops together, and then south London’s BRIT School, which also helped to launch the careers of Adele, Lola Young and Olivia Dean. Within three years, it became one of the biggest acts in the U.K. For a moment in time, 2011 debut album Stereo Typical felt omnipresent; it blasted from car windows, it shot over TV montages, it echoed through shopping centres.

The 2011 hits “Down With the Trumpets” and “Mama Do the Hump” both went platinum. A breezy approach to music-making conjured images of giddy misadventures, cider-soaked conversations among friends that would roll until dawn, in-jokes formed from the simple, shared pursuit of a laugh. Rizzle Kicks defined a specific, more innocent time in youth culture, so much so that TikTok has turned to labelling any glimpse of sunshine in the U.K. as “Rizzle Kicks weather”.

Shortly after they released its second LP Roaring 20s in 2013, which landed at No. 3 in the Official U.K. Album Charts, the pair say they had lost a sense of purpose. They started to drip-feed a number of singles and EPs, and diversified into acting, but many of these one-off releases felt like “treading water,” Alexander-Sule notes.

Rizzle Kicks attempted to create another album, which never came out, while a U.K. tour booked for late 2016 was called off before the pair even hit the road. Though Stephens and Alexander-Sule remained close during this period, for a number of years, the question of working together again was scrupulously avoided.

They soon shifted towards solitary creative work, including respective solo material. There was broadcasting and some literary projects (2024 memoir Avoidance, Drugs, Heartbreak and Dogs and children’s book The Missing Piece) for Stephens, and for Sylvester, writing with the likes of ascendant British acts Rachel Chinouriri and Tom Grennan. 

Rekindling their creative partnership as Rizzle Kicks after more than a decade necessitated an open mind for Stephens and Alexander-Sule, and a willingness to let go. Speaking over Zoom, the pair discuss new beginnings, last November’s comeback gig at KOKO in London, and the greater purpose of their comeback.

Jordan, on Miquita Oliver and Lily Allen’s Miss Me? podcast, you spoke about witnessing “rebellious joy” at your comeback gig. What does that phrase mean to you?

Jordan: I guess I’d be careful about [the energy] being seen as rebellion, but it was incredible. If I’m feeling pumped, I’m thinking of [Irish rap trio] Kneecap – they’re actively doing guerrilla marketing, picking court cases against the government – that’s so serious! But my understanding of the gig at KOKO versus my understanding of the gigs we did 10 years ago is that the joy we’re providing feels a little bit different in these tough times.

It’s hard right now. I really, really hate saying that everything seems like it’s the end of the world. I don’t like being apocalyptic. But we’re seeing the worst of everything in the world right now; the news and social media is just more shocking than ever. The lane in which we exist might be more necessary, as we value community and live music. Being in a place with people who have a mutual interest is hugely important nowadays.

Are there any of your older songs that feel more potent or relevant now when playing them live?

Jordan: I loved playing the older songs [at KOKO]! In my mid 20s, after we put Rizzle Kicks on ice, I spent a lot of time dealing with stuff to do with being in the pop industry; how I felt about my own self-worth and understanding of achievement. In that time, through the work I’ve done on myself, I’ve turned around and realised that [Rizzle Kicks] did so well at such a young age. 

I actually really reveled in playing the songs that everybody loves. We made a breakthrough as being carefree, f–king joyful young men, you know? And that’s what we were talking about in the music. Don’t get me wrong, tracks like [2013’s] “Lost Generation” were politically-charged, to an extent. But we weren’t mouthy – ultimately, we just wanted to give people a good time.

Was there anything that shifted in your personal lives that made it the right time to return to music?

Harley: Making music with Jordan is my favorite thing in the world, and I just wanted that feeling back. Before, I was definitely struggling a lot with my mental health, and just over time, that got better. I spent a lot of time with people I love, and eventually, the desire to get back in the studio started to outweigh the pressure of returning to the stage. Other than the initial, overwhelming period after the news was out, I’ve dealt with everything a lot better than I could have anticipated.

Did you ever worry that the public’s reaction to the comeback wouldn’t meet your own expectations?

Harley: “I mean, if anything, when we announced that we were going to come back the response was overwhelming. I remember the day we put the KOKO tickets on sale, I said to my manager, ‘I’d be really happy if we could sell 300 tickets on the first day, that’d be great.’ And then it sold out in 15 seconds!

Jordan has remained in these media spaces over the years, but I’ve definitely been away from the world for a long time, so I found it quite overwhelming at first. There’s quite a lot of schools around where I live, and I was getting hounded for the first couple of weeks because our comeback videos were getting shared loads. I can’t believe how excited people were. 

We’re not trying to base this whole comeback on nostalgia, however. We want this to be something that can grow from here. We want to be in a space where we can continue to make albums and tour; we want this to be consistent, not just a ‘flash in the pan’-type situation. We could have easily released a song, done a tour, made a bit of cash, and then f–ked off again. The fact that this album has been in the works for four or five years is testament to how seriously we’re taking this era. We really want to push ourselves and progress.

How different does it feel to be writing from a place of acceptance in your life?

Jordan: For me, personally, I was so chaotic on the last album. This is the complex thing of mixing drugs with creativity, is that we have this whole historical notion around being a ‘tortured genius.’ I was messed up by crazy ideas, I needed grounding – but at the time, even Harley struggled to do that with me. I don’t have any real vivid memories of that time, other than I know where I recorded it, and I know I involved a bunch of my family in the process. 

In the past, I would have been eating loads of sugar, doing drugs and drinking [during recording]. Now I’m just drinking maybe one coffee. I’m thinking more logically and rationally; I’m a better rapper; I’m more relaxed and comfortable in the studio. I had great lyrics back in the day, but nowadays, I deliver bars with a little bit more confidence.

But also, I write so much slower than I used to! That’s one thing, I guess, that’s a blessing and a curse in a way. When I was younger, I used to think so fast, and sometimes I’d only be able to think in rhyme. But now, I only have one or two thoughts at a time. Sometimes they trouble me, but they’re calmer. So if I’m writing a rap, I don’t just write rap verses for no reason. I’m there for three or four hours writing a 16-bar verse, just because I’m chilling!