Life Size: Mahalia’s Manifesto for Unapologetic Self-Love
Clad in a vibrant green and gold zip-up, Mahalia sits pretty, her caramel blonde micro-braids tucked neatly under a red bandana. On the table in front of her, a boisterous game of dominos takes place, the pieces slamming down onto the beaten wooden surface. Letters spelling out “JAMAICA” are emblazoned across her chest, above it a gold nugget in the shape of the island hangs from her neck. Faint reggae melodies reverberate from the karaoke bar speakers, the syncopated beats morphing into a backing track.
“Welcome to Jamrock” as Damian Marley would say. Fittingly it’s Mahalia’s favorite song, one she grew up listening to while driving around her hometown of Leicester with her mother. The British singer-songwriter is in Jamaica’s quaint parish of Portland in a town called Port Antonio, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Kingston. She’s on set for her new video with Sprite Limelight, cooling down from the heat of life through music (and it’s not just 86% humidity Mahalia’s facing).
The 26-year-old musician's new song “Life Size” is a diss track to beauty standards and their ever-changing, demanding, and unrealistic expectations, a hurdle she’s still learning to overcome. “The song itself is about me. It’s a song about acceptance,” Mahalia shares while bunkered down on set in her air-conditioned trailer. On stage, she preaches the “Mahalia Manifesto,” a declaration of loving yourself, your mind, your body, and this latest track is not only an infectious beat but an anthem to that––unapologetically being yourself. “It’s saying I accept myself, therefore you should accept me, and nothing you say will make me change,” she enounces, wearing an army green, micro pleated skirt with a DIYed graphic tee slung off her shoulders. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail sans three strands on each side, which frame her face.
“I think it comes from being in an industry where standards are set at epic and peculiar levels,” Mahalia continues to explain, her face scrunching as she rationalizes the thought. Pair that with the pressures women face daily, trying to keep up with the fast-moving beauty standards; the latest body modification trend, or the most extreme fad diet, and you’ve got a mountain of insecurity.
It’s the first location of many on the two-day video shoot; Titchfield High School, located on the tip of Portland’s East Harbour with views of azure-blue water and feathered coconut trees. Mahalia and her dancers are staggered across three stories of a vibrant yellow and blue classroom block, running through last-minute choreography before “ACTION” is yelled and the cameras start rolling.
“I feel most connected to my artistry when I’m comfortable and I’m rooted in my surroundings,” Mahalia shares as her makeup artist fiddles with touch-ups between takes. For her, that’s Leicester, the birthplace of the dream, the soil of her roots, and of course, her home. Coming of age in a music-loving household amongst a melting pot of genres, Mahalia remembers moments where in every room, a different song was playing. That’s why, in her own words, she’s never been able to categorize her music.
But Jamaica too, holds a special place in her heart with a family lineage tracing back to the island. It’s Mahalia’s first time visiting since she was 16 years old, now a decade later she’s here again on Caribbean soil with one purpose, to make meaningful music.
For Season 3, Sprite tapped Grammy-nominated producer-duo Take A Day Trip to create a melodic hook for Limelight, the beverage brand's music program dedicated to giving artists around the globe a platform. The Los Angeles-based pair wanted to develop a beat that sets the stage and vibe for each artist, rather than locking them into a specific sound. “We thought about the concept as one that could weave itself through any culture, genre, and artist,” they explained.
“We had a plan, and I never plan,” Mahalia chuckles when discussing her collaboration with Take A Day Trip. As producers they understood Mahalia’s lyrical vision and as a singer-songwriter she understood what they wanted to do musically and sonically, allowing everything to fall into place with ease. Mahalia, alongside a roster of Limelight artists; Young Miko from Puerto Rico, Doechii from the States, and Fireboy from Nigeria, who like her, also turn to music, relying on harmonies to soothe the strains of the everyday.
Metal caps of perspiring Red Stripe beer bottles clamor as they hit the floor of the dimly lit rum shack. Mahalia sits on the edge of a barstool singing the hook, “My body is my body,” faces glistening with joy and sweat as they dance to her words. “That’s a wrap…” a voice calls out. But is it really? I reckon it won’t be until we all take a page out of Mahalia’s Manifesto and start loving ourselves and living life, unapologetically. Now, that’s a wrap.
