A Safe Bet

Lizzo’s specialty is carrying herself like she’s already a legacy.

- CRAIG JENKINS

IN THE THREE YEARS since "Truth Hurts" blew up on TikTok and "Good As Hell" crept into raunchy ensemble comedies, RuPaul's Drag Race lip syncs, and commercials for Grubhub and Garnier, the Grammy-winning Minneapolis performer Lizzo has had a tumultuous ride in the public consciousness, garnering respect for nuclear-grade feelgood anthems like "Juice" while contending with people's nebulous standards for what she should sing, how she should dress, and even how much she should weigh. She's also been accused of pandering to white audiences with motivational pop songs and scolded for wearing revealing outfits. Occasionally, the backlash has been deserved, like when she went after critics following the release of her 2019 breakthrough album, Cuz I Love You-a perplexing play, since the reviews were mostly glowing-or publicly shamed a Postmates deliverer who later sued, complaining of threats received after the star shared the person's name and picture on Twitter.

But sometimes people are deliberately nitpicking, holding Lizzo to a standard made unreachable by design. The stuff about wooing white audiences is ridiculous. Black artists have been a presence in pop for as long as it's been its own genre (see Dionne Warwick, Whitney Houston, Beyoncé). Any doubts you may have about the Blackness of Lizzo's music you can disabuse yourself of in five minutes by watching the singer blow through Cuz I Love You’s title track at the top of her 2019 NPR Tiny Desk concert, where the gospeland-blues underpinnings are laid bare in a powerhouse vocal performance. Yes, a song like “Juice” carries the notable whiff of a Maroon 5 chart-topper, but