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I went to Lloyiso’s London album release, and before anything else, it was the performance that stayed with me. It wasn’t overdone or overthought. It was simply just him, fully in it. You could hear the emotion in his voice straight away, but more than that, you could feel it. The room shifted in a way that only happens when something is actually real, when an artist isn’t trying to perform at you, but is just being honest in the moment.
That same honesty sits at the core of Never Thought I Could. In conversation, he opened up about creating from a place of surrender, choosing to sit in uncertainty rather than rush to make sense of it. It’s a clear shift from who he used to be. Where he once searched for validation and quick clarity, he’s now leaning into stillness, trusting himself without needing everything to make sense right away.
Being in London felt like an extension of that energy. He spoke about how much those intimate moments matter to him, actually seeing people connect with the music in real time, rather than just releasing it into the world and hoping it lands. For him, it’s not just about being heard, it’s about that immediate exchange, watching someone recognise themselves in a lyric, or feel something they didn’t expect to. It’s in those moments that the music stops being just his and starts belonging to everyone in the room.
It shows in every part of his process. In the studio, he treats music like a conversation with himself, choosing vulnerability over perfection. His style follows that same energy: intentional, stripped back, and reflective of how he feels rather than something to hide behind. Even while creating in Los Angeles, surrounded by a completely different pace and perspective, that core stays the same.
For Lloyiso, it’s never just about the music, it’s about how it makes people feel. About creating something honest enough that someone else can hear it and feel understood. And after seeing him perform it live, that intention feels even more real.
Your latest project, Never Thought I Could, feels deeply personal. What was the emotional starting point for the album?
I think it started from a place of surrender, to be honest. I’d spent a lot of time trying to control how I felt, trying to make sense of things too quickly. This project came from allowing myself to sit in the uncertainty, heartbreak, healing, and growth. It wasn’t about having answers, it was about being honest in the moment. That’s where the emotion really came from.
The title suggests growth and self-belief. What’s something in your life right now that the “old you” wouldn’t recognise?
The peace. I think the old me was always chasing something: validation, clarity, even love in a certain way. Now, I’m learning to just be. To trust that I’m enough without needing everything to make sense immediately. That kind of stillness… I don’t think the old me would’ve understood it.
Your voice carries so much feeling. How do you stay that vulnerable in the studio without filtering yourself?
I try not to think of it as “performing” when I’m in the studio. It’s more like a conversation with myself. If I start filtering, I lose the truth of it. So I just let whatever comes up come up, even if it’s uncomfortable. That discomfort usually means I’m getting closer to something real.
I was at your London listening party, and the energy in the room felt really intimate. What does it mean to you to share your music in that kind of setting?
That means everything to me. Those moments remind me why I do this. It’s one thing to release music into the world, but to actually feel people receiving it in real time… it’s powerful. It becomes less about me and more about what the music means to everyone in that room.
At the listening party, there was a real sense of connection between you and the audience. How important is that immediate, in person reaction to your music?
It’s so important. Music is meant to be shared. Seeing someone connect to a lyric or a melody right in front of you, it validates the vulnerability. It reminds me that these experiences aren’t just mine, they’re universal.
Your style feels very intentional but still effortless. How would you describe your fashion identity right now?
I’d say it’s evolving, just like me. I’m leaning more into simplicity, but with pieces that feel honest to who I am. I don’t want to hide behind what I wear; I want it to feel like an extension of how I feel that day.
Do you see fashion as an extension of your music, or is it a separate form of expression for you?
It’s definitely connected. I think both come from the same place: expression. Sometimes I might not have the words yet, but I can express a feeling through what I wear. So yeah, it all kind of speaks to each other.
Has your style evolved alongside your sound, especially during the making of Never Thought I Could?
Yeah, for sure. As the music became more stripped back and honest, I felt myself wanting the same in how I present myself. Less noise, more intention. It’s like everything started aligning in a quieter, more grounded way.
You’re currently in LA creating. How does being in that environment shape your mindset or the kind of music you’re making right now?
LA has a different energy. It pushes you creatively, but it also gives you space to explore. Being here has allowed me to step outside of what I know and experiment a bit more. But at the core, I’m still telling my story, it’s just being shaped by new perspectives.
After creating this album and sharing it in spaces like the London listening event at Kindred, what do you hope people feel, or take with them, when they listen to your music?
I hope they feel seen. That’s always the goal. Whether it’s love, heartbreak, or healing, I want someone to hear a song and feel like they’re not alone in whatever they’re going through. If the music can do that, then it’s done what it needed to do.
