Yola's simple, radical act of walking through her life

One summer afternoon in 2021, I was driving around town doing errands. All Things Considered was on the radio, with Ari Shapiro interviewing the singer-songwriter Yola about her album Stand For Myself, released earlier that month. I'd already been listening to the record on repeat; its exuberant statement of independence and identity brought me just the uplift I needed during that pandemic summer. Shapiro is a musician himself, and his music-nerdy excitement about Yola's music and message was so infectious, their rapport so joyful, that I found myself in a classic NPR "driveway moment," sitting in the car to hear the whole conversation, with a huge smile on my face.

Last month, when I sat down for my own conversation with Yola at the NPR bureau in Manhattan, I wasn't feeling too smiley. On my way from California, I'd been stuck for seven hours at Dulles airport before finally making the last flight into Newark at 1 a.m., but without my luggage. I felt exhausted, stressed and even a little dizzy. But then Yola arrived. That lovely voice, that warm presence and powerful energy — before I knew it we were chatting like old friends and I was smiling away.

Yola's music bounces, grooves and carries you away. Like its maker, it is unapologetically big and bold, outspoken and uncensored. Her 2025 EP My Way is a breakthrough collection of deeply personal songs about her Ghanaian and Caribbean ancestry, her journey through love and heartbreak, the barriers she's had to break through and the protective walls she's learned to put up. These are hard truths, hard won. Our conversation digs into the many challenges she's faced on her journey to artistic freedom, acceptance and the full expression of self. But the music that emerges from these struggles – a raw and honest affirmation of her own voice and her own path – is triumphant, optimistic, and ultimately joyful. Listen, and you might find yourself smiling.