Zomi Anderson believes in the collective unconscious. How else could one explain the myriad similarities between Kendrick Lamar’s fifth studio album, Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers, and Good Grief, the debut EP released under Anderson’s artist moniker, Zomi the Homie? Both albums, released on the same Friday in May (Friday the 13th, to be exact), carry themes of “the Black nuclear family,” as Anderson puts it — Mr. Morale follows Lamar lamenting childhood trauma, sex addiction, and familial disruption from a Black man’s perspective, while Good Grief chronicles the grieving process, along with the isolation and helplessness Anderson feels around losing tradition from a Black woman’s perspective. It’s a conversation, Anderson explains, that doesn’t have to be held consciously in order to be felt and understood. She didn’t intend for her first EP to serve as a narrative foil to one of May’s biggest releases in popular music — but she’s glad that it does.
Good Grief is a ten-song anecdote that outlines the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Anderson, who wrote the EP while working on her Ph.D. in psychology, sticks to the same format throughout the entirety of the record: each track is preceded by an “intro” — a spoken-word poem that chronicles her feelings in each phase of grief. The intros then transition into mixed tracks that elaborate on those feelings, all weaving together to form an overall storyline of a young Black woman coming to terms with the way that American society has failed her. The EP, produced in part by Seattle artist Poison Jams, features guest vocalists RawsonPoe and Anderson’s long-time friend, Ebony Harris.
“I do not label myself a singer,” Anderson tells BREAKOUT. “I label myself a writer and a creator. A lot of times when I write music, I don’t necessarily write it for me to sing.”
Yet Anderson’s vocals can still be heard on the majority of the tracks, either arguing back and forth with RawsonPoe on “Anger,” or rapping over a synth-studded beat on “Bargaining.” She isn’t utilizing other artists in order to compensate for where she lacks, there would be no need for that. Instead, Ebony Harris and RawsonPoe are strategically placed on various tracks throughout the EP to add a layer of depth that otherwise couldn’t be achieved by the vocals of Anderson alone. Good Grief is a portrayal of Anderson’s distress and exasperation towards the loss of the traditional Black family — she builds tangible grief by simulating disagreements between herself and RawsonPoe and adding Ebony Harris’ perspective into the mix. You can physically feel Anderson’s frustration. She’s not just talking about some hypothetical situation, she’s forcing you to see it yourself, to experience it yourself. As she tells BREAKOUT, Anderson makes obvious art. She’s going to make you understand her message no matter what.
The Good Grief story opens with the first stage of grief: denial. Through both “Denial Intro,” and the successive mixed track “Denial,” the listener is introduced to Anderson as our protagonist, wildly in love and attempting to rationalize for herself the behavior of a man she feels is ditching the concept of the Black family by only pursuing white women. She finds herself torn between her independence and her vulnerability, sympathizing with her love interest’s dejection and bruised ego in hopes that it will sway his feelings in her favor. She has loyalty to him, her self-proclaimed family. She wants him to have the same loyalty back to her. “You told me they only care because Black is in, Black is cool,” recites Anderson on “Denial Intro.” “The way they treat you got me tight. Fuck it. I can do it. I can love you right.”
“It comes from a lot of the 2020 stuff,” Anderson explains. “Seeing Black women stand up for people, literally everyone, and then not getting that support in return. Processing that was very difficult for me. I got your back, you’re obviously supposed to have my back. And then not getting that back, it was difficult.”
Pining gives way to rage, expressed in cymbal crashes and bitter, biting delivery on “Anger Intro” and “Anger.” Anderson is capital-P pissed off, spitting jaded insults to both her love interest and the other woman, chastising her for exploiting her identity and him for allowing it (It’s because of her approach / It’s appropriating my hair and pretending that she cares / And it’s you throwing me away and her agreeing that that’s okay). Yet despite all the sharp, jagged edges of her X-rated schoolyard chant in “Anger,” the denigration feels surface-level. Anderson is more hurt than anything else. She can hide the anguish behind a hardened front of “How dare he?”, but it’s no secret that at her core, she feels cast off and ridiculed. The honesty within her lyricism during this phase is commendable; not many people would be willing to admit that they placed blame on the other woman, despite it being a natural response to the situation at hand. This is where we really come to understand that Anderson isn’t going to sugarcoat any of this for us. Grief isn’t glamorous, regardless of how uncomfortable reality may feel.
There’s a complete tone shift that takes place between “Anger” and “Bargaining Intro.” In the third spoken-word poem of the EP, Anderson’s voice is audibly shaky. She’s running through all the possible scenarios in her head, wondering what she could have done differently so that she wouldn’t have ended up where she is now. She hates him, she loves him. She blames the other woman, but not really. This is the first point in the storyline where Anderson begins to look inward. She recites her verses over a slower, lighter synth beat in “Bargaining,” the only song on the EP that doesn’t feature either Harris or RawsonPoe. It really gives Anderson a chance to show off her talents solo and represents how individual the bargaining phase of grief really is. The mixing of the track itself channels pop R&B heartbreak anthems of the 2000s, giving us a chance to really pause and catch our breath after the turmoil of “Denial” and “Anger.” Things are starting to look up, Anderson is beginning to let go of the burden of carrying this weight, getting over it may be closer than we think, when all of a sudden, we crash right back down into “Sadness.”
Seeing Black women stand up for people, literally everyone, and then not getting that support in return. Processing that was very difficult for me. I got your back, you’re obviously supposed to have my back. And then not getting that back, it was difficult.
“Sadness Intro” immediately stands out from the rest of the intros in how much it lacks tangible emotion. Anderson speaks clearly; her intonation doesn’t change much, as if she no longer has any energy left to give. “This load is so heavy, I’m yelling good grief,” states Anderson. “This load is so heavy, God help me find peace.” The repetitive clicking of a car blinker can be heard in the background of the track, conjuring hazard lights, a deep pause in the storyline while Anderson tries to figure out where to go from here. She’s telling us she needs a minute. She’s asking us to be patient. Harris hops on vocals for the entire first half of “Sadness”; her characteristic melancholy melodies turn misery into haunting beauty. Anderson picks up the second half, but unlike the preceding tracks, “Sadness” doesn’t have any quick recitation. The lines are drawn out and connected, flowing from one to the next, unable to take any specific shape as sadness often does. It’s an impressive audial recreation of such a complicated emotion, something you wouldn’t necessarily expect to see from a rookie lyricist. But that’s exactly what makes Anderson such a compelling musician. She can run with the big dogs. Just give her the chance.
The Good Grief storyline comes to a close with “Acceptance Intro” and “Acceptance.” Anderson reappears on the fifth spoken-word poem in a completely different mood and mindset. “Thank you queen,” she starts off in a bright, airy tone. “Thank you for taking this time with me. Thank you for taking this time to grieve.” She speaks over herself, giving us permission to forgive ourselves and those who have wronged us. She cautions us to be careful where we extend our energy and leaves us with a word of encouragement to create our own artwork that can be just as therapeutic as this EP was for her. Good Grief finishes as a completed story with a positive ending, another rare occurrence in a time when open-ended projects mean follow-up releases are certain to come. Anderson doesn’t leave you desperate for more. Instead, she leaves you choosing to see what she does next. Not because you need to, in order to feel some sort of satisfaction, but because her first piece of work was so brilliantly put together, you can’t help but wonder what could possibly come next. Will she continue this conversation between herself, Kendrick Lamar, and the overall collective unconscious? Or will she come back with something completely unexpected? If Good Grief is any indication, Anderson is on the path to surefire success.