Interview WithLord Esperanza

Photography © Axel Joseph

Photography © Axel Joseph

"I feel more like the result of work and obsession than some divine stroke of genius."

"I feel more like the result of work

 and obsession than some divine

 stroke of genius."

With this magnificent new album named Phoenix, Lord Esperanza once again shakes up the codes of French Rap with a hybrid project that reflects his love for music, words, and art. Once more, he continues reinventing himself and his music, always striving to infuse it with even more human warmth and depth.

If Lord Esperanza has always been known for his sincere and captivating lyricism, today, his words once again resonate with his delivery, serving a Rap that is both fascinating and voluptuous. Théodore—his real name—opens up wholeheartedly to A Rap & A Cup Of Tea, sharing his thoughts on his hypersensitivity and the colours he wanted to bring to his project. As it has been said, "Phoenix is an open-heart operation." We can’t wait to explore the stakes of this authentic and epic achievement.

I think this album is the perfect definition of the word hybrid. There’s a pretty orchestral vibe when it starts, like with the sounds on “Roi sans couronne”, but on the other hand, there are also way more dynamic, energetic tracks like “Solitaire”, even though the lyrics are darker. It felt like starting a movie and thinking, “Something's about to go down!” How did you manage to create this ambivalence between two such different worlds?
Girl, if you only knew, Fanny… I’m exhausted, I struggled like crazy! (laughs) Honestly, it took time—a lot of time! For the first time, I really took the time to make a project exactly how I wanted. If you wanna know everything, I made this album in three years… I started in September 2019 with “Caméléon”, which was the first track I wrote. With my first album, Drapeau Blanc, I had to create “fast and good.” There was this kind of hype around me; people had expectations. I signed a contract with a big bag of cash at a label, and I felt like they signed me more for my potential than for what I was actually worth—like, “This guy could be one of the greats in the Rap Game.” And that thing put insane pressure on me.

I imagine that wasn’t easy…
Nah, not really. I wasn’t at the same level of maturity—I was 21 back then, and now I’m 26, so obviously… Those are ages where you don’t think the same way, you don’t consume art the same way. I think I needed to question myself a bit, to step out of my comfort zone. You know, I re-listened to my first album recently, and I was like, “Bro, you had sky-high ambitions for songs that could never take you where you wanted to go.” Honestly, it was a bit of a humbling slap in the face. With this new album, I was immediately searching for “the sound”—that thing you’re describing as a hybrid: part organic, part vulnerable, part epic. It was super important for me to come back with the most unique sound possible. Obviously, I didn’t invent that sound—there are tons of references, such as guys like Woodkid, and James Blake, women like Rosalía or Billie Eilish; they all influenced this reflection. I told myself, “I gotta mix all that together and finally figure out who I am.”

Can you tell me more about why “Les Hommes Pleurent” is your favourite track?
I don’t even know how to explain it—it hits me hard. It took me a long time to write, to find it… You know, some songs you chase after, like an endless quest. And for me, I was searching for “MY love song”. I’m fascinated by that epic, orchestral dimension. I listened to a lot of Jacques Brel songs like “Ne me quitte pas”, or even more recently, Stromaé with “Formidable”, or “Trop beau” by Lomepal. I think it’s crazy hard to craft a love song that’s beautiful, universal, and, at the same time, deep, accessible, and generous. It’s this crazy balance—you want a chorus that people can sing, but you don’t want it to be too cheesy. In the end, it’s a ridiculous number of details to figure out!

I imagine it took you a while to create that song, then…
Oh, for sure! I think I went through 13 or 14 different versions before landing on the final one. (laughs) I’d say I fall more into the category of hardcore worker rather than the whole raw talent myth—you know, that “I was in the studio, got inspired, and it just came to me” thing. Don’t get me wrong that happens for sure. I’m not saying it doesn’t, but it’s way rarer… At least for me, I feel more like the result of work and obsession than some divine stroke of genius. That whole idea always cracks me up. (laughs)

It’s good, to be honest, to break down those artistic myths we always hear: “I stepped into the booth and just poured my heart out.” It’s nice to show that there’s real work behind every project.
Exactly! Actually, “breaking down” is the right word when talking about “Les Hommes Pleurent” because I really wanted to bring a more current vision to the table. To create something that actually reflects real emotions. The fact that we grew up in a society where men showing vulnerability is frowned upon? That doesn’t help. Between patriarchy, toxic masculinity, all that… The real challenge was finding the right words. I think that’s also why I struggled—it’s deep, vulnerable feelings, and that’s never easy. But actually, I had the title before even writing the song! I just thought it sounded dope: “Men are crying”—that’s not something you hear every day.

What was your guiding principle for this project?
I think the common thread was those recurring elements throughout the album—like the strings, the gospel, you know… I really wanted to create consistency. And that was all made possible by the incredible work of my composer, Nino Vella—I owe him so much. This guy is brilliant! He’s worked with everyone—Patrick Bruel, Sexion d’Assaut, even Maes. He’s all over the music scene! He’s a crazy talented pianist, 20 years of conservatory training under his belt, and he’s barely 30! We met because we worked together on a track with Lefa and Maska, “Voie Lactée”. And for me, that meant everything because Sexion d’Assaut? That’s my childhood right there! These were guys I listened to at 12 years old—like, I knew Lefa’s verses by heart. And then, 10 years later, I’m in the studio with him… These dudes made me want to do this for a living, so yeah, that was huge.

I can tell you were hyped to work with Nino Vella!

Totally! Nino’s the one who helped me bring all my ideas to life because I was super precise about what I wanted—I was intense! Some things were tough for me, like this constant chase for the better. It’s that perfectionist mindset, always trying to pull more out of myself—but what does more even mean? It’s super subjective! But in any case, I was searching for the most refined, polished version possible. Of course, there are flaws—a human made this album, and humans have flaws. But one thing’s for sure: it’s honest and vulnerable, and I know this project inside out. I worked my ass off, wrote, rewrote… And this was the first time I ever did that because I originally come from the freestyle generation. I like to say that YouTube was basically my first employer—back in 2017, I dropped 52 videos in a year; that’s like a track a week! (laughs)

You were dropping music non-stop!
I was in this crazy grind mode, really trying to connect with an audience, build a community. I knew it all came down to consistency in posting. And now, I kinda did the opposite, you see? I really took my time—crafted the songs, wrote and rewrote them, and pushed myself to give them more depth, more vulnerability, and maybe… less of that rapper glitter, you know what I mean? Like, sometimes we hide behind slick rhymes, but in reality, we’re not saying much…

" I truly believe that if Rimbaud had heard a Nekfeu verse, he might’ve just straight-up cut his own balls off."

" I truly believe that if Rimbaud

had heard a Nekfeu verse,

he might’ve just straight-up cut

his own balls off."

In “Roi sans couronne”, you say: “I waited 10 years before reaching my final form”… That really intrigued me!
It’s a bit cheeky, obviously—there’s always a little ego trip in there. But I’ve moved past that classic “I’m the best” flex, because I feel like that ages badly. And, let’s be real, I’m not 20 anymore. (laughs) When I said that, I wanted to open the album with a statement: “Alright, I’m ready.” And at the same time… (laughs) It’s kind of a paradox. The final form of what, exactly? It’s still going to evolve—there’s no final form, that’s just an illusion. But at least I’m coming back as what I believe to be the best version of myself. And, of course, that’s never-ending because we’re always chasing the best version of ourselves. I think that’s also why, as humans, we constantly want to grow.

You seem to always be in a process of self-reflection…
Exactly! (laughs) And it took me a while to understand that—to accept it. Because it’s a real paradox. In an artist’s life, you always get your ego boosted. Like, I just did this candlelight concert in front of 400 people, got a standing ovation, people chanting my name… Of course, it’s incredible. But at the same time, we’re not built as humans to process that kind of experience. It’s always a bit weird, and you have to protect yourself—remind yourself that just because people are hyped about what you’re doing, it doesn’t mean you’re out here changing the world. That perspective comes with experience, with life itself, with the moments you live. For example, I go into prisons and teach writing workshops. I choose to stay connected to reality, to keep my feet on the ground. It’s a way to remind myself: “We’re not changing the world. We’re just human.”

In “Invisible”, you say that you’ll never feel truly legitimate…
That song is about hypersensitivity. I know that, for me, it partly comes from my childhood—the need for recognition, growing up feeling like I was never enough. I’ve always had this feeling of being too sensitive. There’s a quote from Balzac that I love: “I have an absurd sensitivity; what merely scratches others tears me apart.” That’s precisely it. Hypersensitivity isn’t something clinical, you know? There’s no official diagnosis for it. So I’ve done a lot of research on the subject. Always being hyper-aware of everything, questioning yourself obsessively, to the point of draining your own energy because your mind won’t stop spinning… That’s part of it. You experience everything more intensely—which is great in some ways because it lets you tap into deep emotions and transform them into music. But you have to learn to balance it.

Your album touches on so many themes—self-doubt, breakups, maternal love—you even call out a lot of issues, like in “Black Amadeus”. Overall, there’s a huge sense of introspection. How did you write this project? Do you just jot down thoughts as they come, or do you deliberately isolate yourself to write?
It’s a mix of both. I’m super disciplined because I really wanted to break away from that Rap mode where sometimes you get caught up in the sound of words but don’t actually say much. I think it’s crucial to create because you need to, not because you feel pressured to. There’s this quote from Népal that I love: “If you’re in the studio like you’re in a factory, then Babylon has won.” That line is insane! My friend Lonepsi gave me this book—it’s a collection of letters between a poet and his apprentice, who was asking for writing advice. And the poet tells him: “If it’s not a matter of life or death, don’t write.” Obviously, that’s super dramatic—I mean, of course, you can write without being on the brink of death. (laughs) But there’s something about that sense of urgency that really speaks to me.

Who are you writing for, ultimately? Your past self? Your future self? Your audience?
That’s the paradox—it’s such a solitary journey, even though you’re collaborating with people throughout the process. I was super demanding with myself, but at the same time, I was doing it for people—I wanted it to reach them. I think one thing I love the most is writing for people who don’t usually get noticed. People who aren’t listened to. When I write, I feel connected to the humanity in others.

In one of your lyrics, you say: “I’m not a rapper, I’m an artist.” Do you see a difference between the two?
Me? No. But people do. (laughs) Even in politics, when I hear them saying Rap is a shitty culture, I’m like, “Guys, stop acting like we’re illiterate—Rap is the new poetry.” Like, take Népal for example—not all his songs are deep, poetic pieces, but if you break down the way his lines are built, you’re like, “Damn, the rhyming in this is insane, the technique is crazy.” Rap is a new school, a new way of doing things. And honestly? I truly believe that if Rimbaud had heard a Nekfeu verse, he might’ve just straight-up cut his own balls off. (laughs)

Any cool stories from your collabs with Médine, Lefa, and Némir?
Girl, working with Lefa was insane—just meeting him alone meant so much to me. He’s crazy chill, super impressive in the studio, fast as hell, and just ridiculously talented. He’s hyper everything! Médine? Mate, this guy literally wrote his verse in 20 minutes. That’s 20 years in the game for you—you feel that experience instantly! (laughs) And Némir? He’s like a human sun. Just pure good vibes. Super spontaneous. We co-wrote his verse, he toplined the rest… There’s something really effortless about the way he works, which is the complete opposite of me. Honestly, it’s inspiring to compare creative processes with other artists—it pushes you to see things differently.

If you could collab with any artist, who would it be?
Stromae. No question. He’s the greatest francophone artist of the past 20 years. The writing, the visuals, the live performances, the production—he’s just a genius. He really took artistry to its highest level.

a.rap.a.cup.of.tea@gmail.com